


Somebody to You

by crazywisdom



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, It's confusing, or DLJ, previously the actual crazywisdom, prompt series
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 13:19:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crazywisdom/pseuds/crazywisdom
Summary: A collection of prompts currently received @williammarshal on Tumblr.(Not exhaustive: the entire collection can be found on the williammarshal tumblr, and some on my other prompt collection, 'Ends of the Earth'. Prompts can be sent via tumblr).





	1. Close Quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Lexa and Clarke (unbeknownst to each other’s feelings) somehow stranded in a cabin in the middle of a snowstorm and just that cheesy trope of taking care of each other, maybe needing to retain heat *ahem*
> 
> NB: Not quite a cabin!

“It appears,” Lexa said, far too calmly for someone who’d just spotted snow falling like thick pellets as the ground crunched beneath them, “that winter is coming.”

Clarke scrunched her nose. “Bit dramatic much?”

“Winter  _is_  coming,” Indra defended her Commander with an unpleasant curl of the lips. She bristled past Clarke and approached Lexa. “We must make camp, Heda. It’s unsafe to stay on the road. Bandits are a nuisance; the frost will be death.”

“I know.” Lexa sighed, and as she exhaled, the breath spilled from her mouth as a cloud of fog.  Between them, they had enough furs to keep warm. Lexa had anticipated the turn of weather, though she hadn’t prepared for it to happen so suddenly, and for them to be stranded in the middle of the forest.

Clarke blamed the dead body riding behind them on the cart.  _This_  was fucking awkward. They’d been on their way to Arkadia to present Nia’s dead body as a sign of truce, but clearly, the snowfall was a sign of Nia’s bitch spirit giving one last middle finger.  _What a cow_ , Clarke thought bitterly, and that was simply because she genuinely believed her nose was going to fall off.

“Can we just…” Clarke faffed about with her hands, “Make a fire? Set up camp?”

“It’s too cold,” Indra said.

“Well, if we make a fire, we’ll warm ourselves up.”

“It’s too cold,” Indra said again.

“A  _bonfire_?”

“It’s. Too. Cold.”

“I don’t mean any disrespect,” Clarke said loudly, annoyed that Indra was obviously ignoring her and Lexa looked like she was going to laugh. It was always pleasant seeing Lexa smile, carefree and beautiful, but  _not_  when Nia’s dead dickwad of a spirit was clearly haunting them. “But how else do you propose we get  _warm_  without starting a fire? I’ll start a fucking fire right now. You watch me. You—” It occurred to her then that Indra was still ignoring her, and Lexa was still trying to suppress a laugh—by grinning broadly. “I’m starting this fire.”

Aware she was being watched by two idiots, Clarke stormed off to find some wood. Most of it was wet and sodden, but underneath piles of logs there were dry ones, and there was tinder. It wasn’t much, and it wouldn’t be a big fire, but it was  _something_. It was better than standing stock-still like Lexa and Indra were doing. Though Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if they were conspiring. Lexa was still smirking, and when Clarke tossed the logs onto the ground and set to work, a quick glance up caught Indra smirking back at her Commander.

She didn’t like this.

She could see Indra, standing perfectly still, apparently unaffected by the atrocious cold. Clarke wasn’t sure if it was a sign of defiance or if she was simply mocking her, because Lexa wasn’t hiding anything. Underneath her furs she was shivering, and proceeded to gently bopping on the spot in a vain attempt to keep herself warm. Yet neither of them moved to help her.

“Indra, you’ll guard Nia’s body,” Lexa said quietly. “Perhaps the cold will preserve her. We shall not present the Skaikru with a rotting, unidentifiable corpse. Maybe it is actually best you stay out.”

“I can handle myself, Heda,” Indra said. Clarke believed her. “But  _you_  need to find shelter.”

“I know the trees, Indra. Do you not remember?” Lexa smiled at her. “I am of Trikru.”

Indra, to Clarke’s disbelief, smiled back. “You always were and always will be.”

“Clarke,” Lexa called, after about fifteen minutes. Clarke cursed silently. “How goes your fire?”

The trio stood in sullen silence for a while—well, Lexa and Indra seemed amused, but Clarke was not. The snow had dampened in her hair, and she looked like a sad dog. Her fire was non-existent; rather, it was a pile of miserable twigs and soggy logs. “See for yourself,” she snapped, when Lexa decided to laugh outright. “Why don’t you come here and make it, then?”

“I admire your effort. Indra will find a safe-spot to build a fire and guard Nia’s body. I had another idea.”

“Making a fire?”

“In the open? Did months of being Wanheda teach you nothing?” Lexa was teasing her, and Clarke didn’t appreciate it. She didn’t appreciate the way she enjoyed the sight of Lexa smiling at her, and for a few moments, in a very long while, she did not see Lexa’s startled eyes gazing back at her as Clarke pressed the cold blade of Roan’s dagger to her throat. She did not see the guilt, and she did not feel her chest crush. “We will find a shelter. Indra, do not stray.”

“I won’t.”

“A shelter?” Clarke repeated, dumbfounded. “Where the hell are you going to find a shelter?”

Lexa was smiling too much today. It was that, or she just hadn’t seen Lexa smile in a while. Too much time had been spent fighting, arguing, peace-brokering…Lexa’s brow often seemed permanently fixed into a frown, and whilst nothing could make Lexa look  _bad_  (and she totally knew it), killing Nia must have been a weight lifted off her chest. Thinking back, it was reckless, violent and completely paradoxical. It went against everything Lexa’s coalition stood for, yet  _jus drein jus daun_  had been the result. Clarke didn’t know if Lexa had betrayed her coalition in her act of vengeance, or dispensed Grounder justice.

“I’m of the trees,” Lexa said again. “I know of shelters.”

“You  _knew_  of one? Has it occurred to you I’m freezing my tits off?”

Lexa tried not to look down at her breasts, and Clarke rolled her eyes.  _Really? Still not over them?_  “It was amusing,” she offered mildly, and Indra nodded in eager support. Clarke glowered at them. “You were defeated by wood.”

“Whatever. Look, if we’re going to get Nia’s body to Arkadia, we should—”

“—Rest up,” said Lexa. “It is pointless to ride when we are so tired. Tiredness renders us defenceless. We will reach Arkadia soon. But for now, it is more important for you—for  _us_ —to keep warm. Safe.”

Clarke tried to pretend she hadn’t caught Lexa’s slip-up in words. She could already see Lexa’s blush creeping up her neck and it wasn’t because she was cold; the furs had ensured that well enough. Still, she made no comment.  _She has no right_. Yet she couldn’t help but feel her stomach clench painfully at the thought. She blinked, too slowly, and saw Lexa’s earnest eyes looking up at her as she bowed, swearing fealty. She thought back to the elegance and integrity of her vow, and she thought back to how her heart had stopped when Roan kicked her down in the fighting pit. She thought of how her heart throbbed wantonly as Lexa slipped into her room in nothing but her night-gown to thank her.

 _I should have kissed her_. Clarke snapped back to reality as soon as the thought hit her mind, and she stumbled, nearly losing her footing in the snow. Quick as an arrow, Lexa darted out and held out a hand. Clarke didn’t take it, and Lexa withdrew awkwardly. “Are you alright? Do you need some water?”

“I’m fine.” Clarke shook her head. “Let’s find this shelter.”

* * *

“Which idiot built this out of stone?”

“You’re angry. Freezing temperatures can affect our mood.”

“No, I’m not angry,” Clarke said defensively. “It’s fucking freezing!”

“It isn’t as cold as Indra out there,” Lexa said. “I’m sorry I asked you to give your furs up, but Indra needs them. She must guard the body.”

“I’m not angry about that. I know she needs them.”

“It’s only for one night,” Lexa said softly. Clarke tried not to focus too much on their surroundings. The stone walls were bare and the floor was too cold to go barefoot. It wasn’t particularly spacious but there was a hard bed in the corner of the shelter, and someone had obviously been here recently. There was stale bread and mouldy cheese which they threw out. All three of them had been too cold to hunt, relying solely on their dried meat and berries in their provision packs, but their bellies rumbled. And it was really,  _really_  cold.

“We probably shouldn’t have given the bed furs to Indra,” Clarke lamented, looking at their bare, stone bed. It reminded her of the programmes she used to watch on the Ark with Wells. God, that had been  _so long_  ago. And she was still eighteen. Clarke self-consciously rubbed her neck. She’d aged about forty years in the space of two minutes.  _I’ve killed about six hundred people in about two minutes…_

“She needs those furs. The temperature outside is deathly.”

“The temperature inside  _here_  is deathly.”

“I have my cloak,” Lexa offered awkwardly. They weren’t really good at this small-talk situation. Only days ago, the invitation Lexa had accepted from Clarke to talk to her, alone in a room, had been met with a blade to her throat. It wasn’t exactly conversational material. Wordlessly, Lexa shuck the coat off. Underneath her furs and cloak she was wearing nothing but a simple tunic tucked into her breeches, and though Clarke knew Lexa was slim, not skinny, she looked far too underdressed.

Clarke shook her head. “Absolutely not. I’m not carrying  _two_  dead powerful idiots back to Arkadia.”

“Three. Indra would likely kill you,” Lexa said, smiling at her.

For some reason, Clarke smiled back.

“Be logical about this,” Lexa pled. “We’ll share my cloak tonight. It is only for tonight. We needn’t speak of it—ever,” she added, when she saw the hesitant look on Clarke’s face. “You have my word. I know what you think of me, Clarke, but I just want you to be warm.”

Sometimes, it was dangerously easy to forget that Lexa had left her, cold and bitter by the Mountain. It was easy to forget that this was the Commander who’d let a village burn just to keep an inside man safe. It was easy to forget that Lexa had used Clarke for her reputation as Wanheda in Polis. She’d never made it to Polis because Lexa wanted to see her out of sentimentality.

And it was easy to forget that everything Lexa had ever done had been justified.

It was easy to forget reasoning when Clarke so desperately wanted a scapegoat. It was easy to forget when Clarke pushed blame away from herself, from her people—and the next closest thing, always present, always  _there_ —had been Lexa.

Always.

“No inappropriate touching,” Clarke joked, trying to lighten up the sudden tension in the room. She did not feel very cold anymore. “My mum will cut your hand off.”

“Of course.” Lexa inclined her head respectfully, her cheeks flustered. It was enough to make Clarke’s heart twinge, but infinitely funnier that Lexa had taken it seriously. She didn’t quite have the heart to tell Lexa she was mocking her.

They fell into a rhythm, though. After Lexa advised Clarke to keep some of their food rations for tomorrow, seeing the way Clarke had devoured the majority of her pack, they’d placed Lexa’s cloak (and later blanket) onto the floor and sat down and… _talked_. Lexa had already, to Clarke’s insistence, swapped food bags with her, after not quite overcoming the sheer lack of food in Clarke’s. But then they really did converse, and Clarke would never admit it, but it felt good. She’d missed talking to Lexa—properly. So much of the time they’d spent together they’d discussed war tactics, their loyalties to their people—and it was an endless cycle. Tonight, they spoke about horses, the different clans, the length of winter, the Polisian festivals (“You must come to the full-moon feast—Kendall of the Sun Clan imports the  _best_  sweetcakes, and you will enjoy them. I know you will.”), Lexa’s horror at Clarke’s inability to swim, and chess, which Clarke spent a solid hour trying to explain the rules. Lexa concluded that it sounded “ridiculous” and could not fathom why there were kings, queens yet no Commanders.

“That isn’t a valid representation of our hierarchy,” Lexa had said sternly. “What about the clan leaders? And must there only be two of each, except the pawns? There are thirteen clans in our coalition.”

Clarke gave up.

Upon hearing Indra’s loud snores (overly loud—as if she was trying to send a message), they prepared for bed. Lexa had the decency of letting Clarke choose which side of their stony bed to lie in, and draped her cloak over Clarke’s body before clambering in tentatively beside her. They stayed silent. Lexa’s back was ramrod straight, and her arms were frigidly still by her side. She looked like a corpse, and Clarke bit down on her tongue to refrain from making a joke about Nia.

Darkness settled when Indra’s fire dwindled down, but Clarke was very aware of the fact that she was still awake, and so was Lexa. Lexa, impressively, had not actually  _moved_ —not an inch—but Clarke’s eyes had adjusted to the lack of light and she could see the erratic movement of Lexa’s chest heaving up and down.

“Lexa,” Clarke muttered, a little sleepily. “Relax. And take some of your cloak. It’s big enough to share.”

“It’s warmer if you wrap it around yourself twice,” Lexa advised. She still lay in that ridiculous position.

“Yes, it is, but you’ll be colder than Nia’s body if you don’t get under,” Clarke said impatiently, and shifted, despite Lexa’s protests. Clumsily, she threw one half of the cloak over Lexa’s shuddering body, and sighed. “Better?”

“Much better. Thank you.”

“And you don’t need to sleep like you’re dead, either. Granted, I let you talk about death all the time, but you don’t need to actually behave like a corpse.”

“I would assume you—I don’t know if I may move in my sleep.”

“That’s fine. Sorry in advance if I kick you. I do that a lot.”

“Do you sleep beside many people a lot?”

Clarke turned to stare at her, though she could not make out the outline of Lexa’s face. She frowned. “That’s not what I meant,” she said hastily.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“You know, you’re right.”

“I know. What am I right about?”

Clarke nearly hit her, but she was too cold to move and Lexa was still looking ridiculous with her corpse imitation. “It’s really cold even sharing a cloak,” she said, shaking her head. “We should probably try to just…freeze so our body systems shut down and we can sleep?”

“That sounds both unsafe and stupid,” Lexa said flatly. “Come here. Get under the covers.”

“Excuse me?”

“And take your top off,” Lexa said, shucking off her tunic. Clarke was quite sure Lexa could see her gaping like a fish, even in the darkness. Okay—this was  _not_  an invitation for sex. She wasn’t sure  _what_  Lexa was thinking, or if she’d found some shrooms and taken them without telling Clarke, but this was  _not_  cool. She didn’t budge, and Lexa prodded her as if to prompt her. It came from bizarrely nowhere, and Lexa shifted so she rested on her side. Clarke averted her gaze from Lexa’s naked body. “What?”

“You’re naked,” Clarke said dully.

“You are not impressed?”

Clarke, a little aghast that Lexa had the indecency to joke  _now_  when she’d been so courteous all day, really did smack her this time, on the arm. “You know, when I was talking about freezing to death, I didn’t mean  _sleep with me_.”

“This isn’t a romantic gesture,” Lexa explained. “It’s about body warmth. Sometimes it is a necessity. During the pre-coalition wars, I had many a bed-partner during our march north. It helps.”

 _Okay_. Clarke shook the thought of  _many bed-partners_  from her mind and tried to stomach Lexa’s suggestion. Lexa, who was still very much naked and expectant, lying beside her. This was ridiculous, but it made sense. Biologically. Between them, it was awkward as  _fuck_. Still, she supposed it was less awkward than having to share body warmth with Indra. Clarke swallowed, her eyes inadvertently trailing down from Lexa’s eyes to her exposed neck. Naively, she hoped in the darkness that Lexa would not see her, but Clarke’s eyes would not avert themselves from Lexa’s small but shapely breasts, the muscled flatness of her stomach, and the scars and scratches on her tattooed, otherwise smooth skin.

Another twinge. It wasn’t in her chest this time.

Clarke groaned overdramatically, and ripped off her tunic. “We’re not talking about this. Ever.”

“You have my word.” Lexa shuffled and held her arms open for Clarke to sink into. Clarke stared at her stupidly for a moment. “I harbour no indecent intent, Clarke. I’m cold. You’re cold. We’re both adults, and we’re both logical.”

“Right. And we’re not talking about this.”

“You said that.”

“I know, but I want to clarify—”

“You have my word,” Lexa repeated, firmly. Clarke sunk into Lexa’s embrace, and hated how easily she became overwhelmed, almost instantly. The faint woody smell against Lexa’s neck felt like home. The way her shorter frame slotted perfectly against Lexa, and the way she was just tall enough to rest her head on the crook of Lexa’s neck was too much; it made Clarke want to tug Lexa closer, and she  _did_. Her hands immediately wrapped around Lexa’s waist, and she inhaled her scent deeply, tugging her closer.  _I don’t want this. I don’t want her._  It sounded so unconvincing. Lexa was polite enough to keep it completely platonic.

Clarke didn’t want to remember the safety net that were Lexa’s arms, smothering her body with warmth. She  _knew_  Lexa still cared for her. Lexa prided herself on being unpredictable, but a battlefield was different to a relationship. Her eyes carried her soul, especially in front of Clarke, and she’d spent every waking moment in Polis reeling from the way her insults hurt Lexa’s gaze. She spent every breakfast feeling Lexa’s eyes on her, seeing them soften at the very mention of her name. Lexa still cared for her, and Clarke didn’t know what to do. And then she’d tried to kill her.

This was fucked-up, and they both knew it. Still, Clarke buried her face closer against Lexa’s neck, not wanting to catch  _that_  look in Lexa’s eyes. Not tonight. She could feel the heat of Lexa’s lithe body, still as anything, pressed up against her. And truthfully, she wasn’t entirely sure she could trust herself to remain platonic in this as Lexa could. Even if it wasn’t affection or love or whatever the fuck it was—it didn’t stop Clarke’s mind telling her body that Lexa was  _here_. Lexa was beautiful. Lexa wanted her. Badly. Lexa would kiss her back. Lexa would touch her so reverently, so gently. All it would take was just a tiny peck, a slip of the tongue. All it would take was one night.

Clarke had tried to kill Lexa anyway. Using her for sex for one night was not as brutal as leaving her by the Mountain.

“Are you warm?” Lexa asked quietly, when the silence became stifling. They were both keenly aware that they were both still awake, and Clarke’s last thought evaporated guiltily.  _I can’t believe I just thought that_. “Is this alright?”

“Yeah—yeah, it’s fine,” Clarke said, distracted. “Sorry, I was thinking.”

“It’s alright. If you are uncomfortable, let me know, and I will move accordingly.”

“It's—are  _you_  okay? Are you comfortable?”

“We’re just keeping each other warm,” Lexa mumbled, dipping her head down ever so slightly. Clarke’s chest felt like it would never stop aching for her. She  _knew_  Lexa cared, but Lexa knew that  _she_  knew. It was an impossible situation, after they’d placed themselves in impossible, horrible circumstances. And fuck, it really  _hurt_. Clarke could feel it. She didn’t want to imagine how Lexa felt. “That’s all.”

“Lexa…”

“We’ll deliver Nia to Arkadia tomorrow. If we ride early we can avoid this. It’s fine.”

“I know.”

“We will deliver Arkadia justice. Your people, as you’ve mentioned so frequently, deserve as much.”

“I know. Lexa—”

“We will return to Polis, and you will have your wish.” Clarke stayed silent, inquisitive. “We’ll never speak of it.” She could hear the smile in Lexa’s voice.

Could people go on living like this? Self-imprisoned in pain and betrayal and distrust? Clarke knew she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t trust Lexa—not yet, anyway. But trust or not, it had nothing to do with the sometimes youthful naivety Lexa held in her eyes whenever she approached Clarke in Polis with an invitation to look over the city from the walls. Sometimes, Lexa proudly showed her around the various different places in Polis and they’d spend an afternoon reading books from the Old World. Sometimes, Lexa retrieved unimportant letters in Trigedasleng in an effort to help Clarke learn the language at her request. Sometimes, Lexa behaved as if her invite to Polis, just outside the Mountain, had been instantly accepted, Clarke had arrived, and nothing else had happened. No genocide had occurred. And most of the time, Clarke appreciated it.

Everyone reminded Clarke of the crime she’d committed, except the one person who’d betrayed her at Mount Weather. Clarke shouldered the burden every minute except for the minutes she spent with Lexa, where the burden was so massive on her slim shoulders it overshadowed Clarke’s.

Clarke didn’t like that thought. She didn’t like Lexa, haunted at night.

“I don’t hate you,” Clarke admitted softly, her lips pressed against Lexa’s collarbone. It was the truth. It had taken her months and an attempted assassination to say it, but it was her heart. “I don’t. I really don’t.”

Lexa nodded against her, and pulled her closer. Clarke tried not to get sucked in by the intoxication that was Lexa kom Trikru, but they both knew where they stood. They weren’t there yet. But naked, and pressed hot up against Lexa’s body, Clarke had never felt safer. The brief feeling of arousal was not gone. It felt like a background presence. All Clarke truly felt was safety, and maybe the willingness to walk along the tightrope that was this journey with Lexa. Because for once, she knew Lexa had given her a safety net below.

Lexa’s reply was quiet. “I know. And one day, I hope you know how I feel.”

“I know how you feel, Lexa.”

“No, Clarke, you don’t.”

Against everything she believed in, against every voice in her mind screaming at her, Clarke leant up to press a kiss against Lexa’s lips. It was chaste, but lingering. It was the very memory of Lexa and her lessons, her smiles, her flat jokes, her voice—that had stayed with Clarke in isolation for all those months in the woods, alone. It was Lexa in Polis, guarded, polite, and unable to stare at her without giving herself away. Clarke broke off their kiss, and stroked Lexa’s cheek. “I don’t hate you,” she repeated quietly.

Lexa nodded, a little more understanding this time.

It still hurt.

“I know.”


	2. Just a Scratch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Clarke returning to Arkadia, Lexa visiting months later but is attacked on the way and seriously injured plus Abby figuring out Clarke loves her.

It had been on Lexa’s insistence. All of it. And it began a few weeks ago.

“You should take Midnight,” Lexa said, barely looking up from her table. She was frowning at a letter she’d received as Clarke reclined on Lexa’s bed. She didn’t want to think too crudely (sometimes she still suspected Lexa could read minds) but she’d just had a hot bath. Lexa’s maids had pampered her. Even her hair was clean. Hells, even her fingernails. And Lexa was not taking advantage. Instead, she was fiddling around with her quill, thinking of something to write.

Clarke yawned. “Take Midnight where? Wait—do you want me to leave you for a bit?”

“Don’t be silly. You’re only in a nightgown.” Lexa blinked, and finally looked up as if she realised what she’d just said. The nightgown was…translucent to say the least. Lexa flushed, and stared furiously at the desk. “I meant for your ride to Arkadia.”

“My what?”

“…Aden didn’t tell you?”

“That boy doesn’t tell me anything except your favourite flower.”

Lexa laughed. “And what is that, may I ask?”

“Nightshade, because it’s dangerous, poisonous and deadly, like you.”

“He said that?”

“Yes. He’s usually right. You’re practically his Bible.”

“My favourite flower is a carnation.”

“Oh.”

Clarke decided to cover herself with the furs, ignoring Lexa’s self-indulgent snicker. She couldn’t shake the thought from her mind. When had it been decided she was going back to Arkadia? She knew her mother and Lexa had been in frequent correspondence, since winter was coming and supplies had to be transported. But she deserved a say in this, and she suspected Lexa knew a storm was coming for her. She loved Lexa, yes, but that didn’t mean Lexa could just ferry her about.

“I’m guessing it’s a letter from my mother,” Clarke said eventually.

“It’s…heartfelt,” Lexa said awkwardly. Eventually, she gave up and sighed, shrinking back into her armchair. Clarke’s heart sank. Lexa didn’t give much away, not even when her audience consisted solely of Clarke. It was not like the Commander to give much away anyway. Her guidance in the form of Titus had gone, and Lexa hadn’t said a single word about it. Clarke had tried asking Aden, only to receive an uncharacteristically stony response of “I don’t know” in return. It was code for “it’s none of your business"—but Aden was too polite to say so.

Lexa said it the next day anyway.

"My parents never saw me to adulthood,” Lexa lamented from her chair, which seemed all too big on her slim shoulders now. “I was taken to Polis as a child, trained to be the Commander.” Trained to be a killer. “I…The closest I felt to parenthood was with Anya. But I cannot imagine or empathise what it must be like to be leagues away from your family. I want you here, Clarke.” Lexa did not point to the room, or even mention Polis. When Clarke looked at her, Lexa’s fist was clenched over her heart, so hard the whites of her knuckles looked on the verge of exploding from her hand. “Only a monster keeps a daughter hostage from her mother, so far away. You should go.”

“You’re not keeping me hostage,” Clarke said defiantly. “And this is my decision. You can’t just send me about as you wish, and neither can my mom.”

Lexa fell silent, sufficiently scolded. Clarke didn’t need to guess the letter came from her mother as soon as Lexa set the quill down, and gave the empty space that look. It was the kind of despondence she hated seeing on Lexa’s face. She was usually so confident and bold, emblazoned by her war-paint. Tonight she was stripped of that, her beauty hidden in the dimness of the room. Without thinking, Clarke crossed the room, shuddering in the slight breeze the open window let through. They had fallen into quite the domestic routine since all hell broke loose following Lexa’s shooting. Lexa being Lexa hadn’t died; Ontari being Ontari had decided to come kill them all. Polis being Polis defended their Commander until their dying breaths, and Lexa nearly died a second time, of a heart attack, when Indra proudly presented Ontari’s head in a box.

Clarke proceeded to be sick on Aden’s new boots.

“I want you here.” Lexa’s voice lowered to a murmur as Clarke nodded. Lexa shifted so Clarke could sit on her lap, and wrapped both arms around her neck. “I want you with me.”

“I’m here.”

“For now.”

“Are you gonna talk about until you die, or something?”

“No.” Lexa buried her laugh against Clarke’s neck, her hand sneaking up Clarke’s night-gown. Her thumb idly traced up her spine, feeling Clarke’s skin prickle at her touch. “Clarke, you’ve got to listen to me.” Lexa rested her chin against the crook of Clarke’s neck, and peered over her shoulder at the piece of paper. Clarke could already see her mother’s name on it, and she read a few sentences. A few was all that was needed to understand. “I didn’t want to hide it from you—”

“I do miss her,” Clarke said. Her voice was croakier than expected. “I do. I miss all of them.” But she’d gotten so used to Nyko and his lessons; she’d gotten used to sparring with Lexa, or Indra if she was unlucky. She’d gotten used to Aden bringing up breakfast every morning just because he knew she wouldn’t finish it all and he’d get to eat the leftover bread. She closed her eyes and leant her head back, exposing her neck which Lexa did not waste time in pressing a soft kiss to the skin. She kissed her again, this time gently on her collarbone, and pecked kisses and kisses up the column of her neck. Her arms wrapped around her waist and squeezed, like she would never let go. “This is my home, Lexa. Now it is, anyway.”

Lexa hummed against her skin, her teeth grazing gently. Clarke sighed happily. This was her home now. Arkadia was nothing except a few of her friends, but things had changed drastically. She wasn’t sure if she could even face seeing someone like Bellamy again.

“I’ll still be here,” Lexa promised, shifting her face so her nose brushed against Clarke’s ear. “I have my people to look after. You have yours.”

“I know what this note says, Lexa. My mom wants me to spend months in Arkadia.”

“It’s good for your people to see you.”

“And what about you?”

“I have my duties.”

“And after your duties?”

“Excuse me?”

Clarke grinned and twisted to face her, grabbing Lexa’s face by both hands. The look of surprise on Lexa’s face was surely enough, but the surprised and frankly embarrassing “mmph” she let out when Clarke kissed her made her laugh in Lexa’s face. Lexa laughed back and fumbled with Clarke’s nightgown, unsheathing her dagger and unceremoniously shredding it to pieces. Clarke groaned in disapproval and then in pleasure as Lexa sucked on her bottom lip, shucking upwards so they staggered to their feet. Clumsily, and feeling like it was their first time all over again, they stumbled towards the bed.

“How,” Clarke said lowly, as Lexa’s hands traversed up her sides, squeezing her breasts, “will you survive months without this?”

Lexa sunk her teeth into Clarke’s neck, eliciting a loud groan from her. I guess I deserved that. “I have hands,” Lexa murmured, and Clarke shuddered, trying to erase the image of Lexa touching herself like that. “Lie down. Let me show you what you won’t get in Arkadia.”

* * *

“The winter supplies will be sufficient,” Kane said, resting his hands on the table. As the Chancellor now, he’d been focusing on growing their own vegetables—only to find the land a little too radioactive, still, for their taste. According to Miller, one of their potatoes had turned purple. “The Commander has sent more wagons of grain for the space we have to store it. She…” Kane looked down at the letter in front of him, and quietly snorted to himself. When he’d first stated Lexa was a revolutionary, he’d meant it. He hadn’t realised he kind of liked the young woman on a personal level, too. “She has promised us casks of Southern red wine, and apologises for the delay.”

Abby, seated beside Clarke, laughed. “Marcus—”

“It says it right here,” Kane insisted, holding the letter up. “She is genuinely transporting wine. It’s dated weeks ago, though, so liquor could be on its way.” He tried to sound merry.

“It’s better than the piss ale the City Guard lives off,” Clarke piped up, and Kane laughed awkwardly.

Nothing had been right since her return. Her mother’s embrace was her mother’s embrace. It was all-encompassing love and relief. She’d asked several times if Clarke had intended to say permanently, and every time, Clarke had said no. Yet here she was, two months later, still in Arkadia. Her friends had been normal, to say the least. Octavia was civil, which was about as much as Clarke could hope for. She was still mourning Lincoln, and Clarke suspected she hadn’t forgiven her for TonDC yet, either. Raven was different. She’d taken it upon herself to be Clarke’s unwanted tour guide. The biggest change was her bed. Gone was the luxurious furs of Lexa’s bed, and gone was Lexa’s smell. In its place was a shabby double mattress in a grey room with blank walls.

They saw her more as a Grounder than as one of them, and Clarke supposed they were right. She still wore Grounder clothing, she spoke about Aden, about Ontari, about Lexa—and guiltily, it had taken her an entire week to catch up with her mother and ask her if everything was okay. She felt like a guest, not like someone who’d just returned home.

Though she could tell Kane wanted to speak about it like an itch that wouldn’t go away, they never asked about Ontari, Titus’ fate, or Lexa’s gunshot wound. What happened in Polis would stay in Polis. Clarke felt as if she’d already infiltrated everyone’s lives with enough Grounder-ness. She could tell by the look on her mother’s face. It wasn’t that Abby didn’t understand; it wasn’t that she didn’t approve of her relationship with Lexa. She did understand. She didn’t mind at all. But there’d always be the slight discomfort in the back of her mind. This was still the Commander who’d betrayed her daughter an inch away from certain death. Those thoughts, no matter how Lexa made amends, would stay with a mother. It was not pettiness. It was motherhood.

After the meeting, Raven, who’d clearly been standing outside the door the entire time, wrapped her arm around Clarke’s shoulder.

“Not another tour,” Clarke groaned. “I’ve seen enough of the walls.”

“Nope. Wait—hey, Dr. Griffin!” Raven called her name about three times until Abby finally turned around. “Any, um, news on finding any painkillers? Any plants of interest?”

“I’m not a botanist, Raven,” Abby said patiently. “There’s still that other option—”

“Come on, I’d take opium at this rate—”

“Raven.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Raven said, a little coldly, “I’m showing your daughter around.”

“You’ve been doing this every day,” Clarke muttered. “Can you show someone else around?”

“No.”

So they walked around the compound, with Clarke careful to slow the pace down just in case Raven’s leg tired. Raven, for the most part, made no complaint. She hobbled—that was obvious—but she did not mention the pain. A part of Clarke just wanted to tell her to take Abby’s advice. She was the medical professional after all. But there was a silent understanding between them: Raven was just as stubborn as Clarke. The only reason Raven latched herself onto Clarke upon her return was because she knew Clarke would be the only one who understood. Octavia had been distant lately, and Raven’s constant presence was not a sign of pain but loneliness.

“We never really talked about it, you know,” Raven said idly when they reached the gates.

Clarke fiddled with the iron. “About what?”

“You know, girl stuff.” Raven scowled at Clarke’s snort. “C'mon, spill. How’s sex with the Commander of the Coalition?”

Clarke sputtered, and Raven doubled over laughing, dodging Clarke’s misjudged slap. She missed completely.

“Does she say shit like, ‘I united the clans!’ when she comes?”

“Raven!”

“What?”

Clarke laughed, and then crooked her finger for Raven to come closer. Intrigued, Raven hobbled over and Clarke rested a hand on her shoulder. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind. She closed her eyes, and thought of Lexa’s calloused, beautiful hands racing up her skin, caressing every inch with her fingers, her mouth, her tongue… She thought about Lexa’s full lips, and the gentle way she kissed. She thought of the rough way she kissed, impassioned and sometimes heady with wine; she thought of the way she bit Clarke’s lip, and the way her fingernails raked down Clarke’s back as Clarke fucked her at night. She thought about the time Lexa yanked Clarke up by the hair as her fingers pumped inside her, and she groaned and gasped and came, her mouth eliciting ungodly sounds into Clarke’s ear as she shuddered underneath her.

“One time,” Clarke said hoarsely, feeling that familiar ache rise in her again, “we went until the sun rose.”

Raven withdrew, mouth agape. “Griffin,” she said in wonderment, “I’m so fucking happy for you.”

Red came weeks later, but it wasn’t in the form of wine.

The gates opened immediately as the Commander of Thirteen Clans fell off her palfrey, deathly still. An audience had already gathered, a stunned Kane among them, but it was the Griffins who rushed to the Commander’s aid. Indra and Nyko, flanking either side of her, did not look much better. They’d suffered gashes that ripped through their armour, but Lexa had been hit the hardest. Unable to get herself to her feet again, she flopped against the ground, groaning in agony. Gunners immediately fetched a makeshift gurney, but blood was already trickling from Lexa’s mouth—and everywhere else.

“Clarke,” she rasped, a flailing hand reaching out. Clarke grasped it as the gunners gently tried to lift her. Abby was tearing her armour open, attempting to assess the injury. Clarke needed no medical training to deduce it was bad. “Clarke.”

“I’m here,” she promised, her voice catching in her throat. “Lexa, stay with me. Stay.”

“What did you call them?” Lexa’s voice was surprisingly steady. “Guns?”

“Guns attacked you?”

“No. Titus’ weapon.”

“Yes—yes, a gun.”

“When he had a gun to me, I died. But I stayed with you.”

Clarke couldn’t take much more. Abby’s medical instructions to the gunners and Jackson were simply background noise. Her vision blurred as tears took over, trickling helplessly down her cheeks. Lexa’s grip on her wrist was strong, but she was as pale as a ghost. “Yes, you did,” she said, desperate to keep Lexa talking. Lexa smiled softly at her, and she wanted Lexa to keep smiling. “You stayed, because you’re the strongest person I know. You’ll stay.”

“I made you a promise. I told you that when you returned to Polis, I’d be there.”

“Lexa…”

“If I don’t, Clarke, promise me you will return. Just for me. Then you can come back here—”

“We’re not talking like it’s the fucking end of the world,” Clarke said sternly, ignoring her mother’s scandalised 'Clarke!’ “You’re the Commander of the Coalition. Act like you united thirteen clans, and stay alive, or I’ll kill you myself.”

Tough love, she supposed.

Lexa chuckled, and nodded. It was a promise, she knew. It was just the way Lexa worked. As the gunners took Lexa away on the gurney, Jackson and Raven supported Clarke on either side as they traipsed towards medical. Like a disinterested crowd, everyone dissipated, bar the Grounders, who awkwardly set up camp at the gates. Indra was helping Nyko unload boxes and barrels of supplies, Clarke supposed, but she didn’t pay too much attention. Abby’s words were fading in and out as she spoke to Lexa.

“Multiple cuts, a deep gash to the abdomen—we’ll need to re-stitch that—and—do we even have any antibiotics? Just suppress the bleeding—yes, put pressure on it—and—Lexa, can you hear me? Nod? Yes? Yes, okay, we’re going to press down hard—it’ll hurt, yes—can you—”

A loud yell that sounded angrier than pained pierced the air, and Clarke closed her eyes. She peered through the window to see pure white sheets drenched in red, and she felt sick.

“Talk to me, Lexa. Keep talking. Tell me what happened. Take your time. Take your time. We’re here. Clarke’s here. You made it.”

“I made it,” Lexa’s voice was weak.

“Yes, you did.”

“Outlaws,” Lexa said. “I guess. I don’t know. No furs. We fought them.”

“Okay. How many of them were there?”

“Too many. I wanted…I wanted—”

“What did you want, Lexa? Just—I know this hurts, so just stay with me—”

“I will speak plainly,” Lexa said quietly. “Old English.”

“You can speak Trigedasleng for all I care, Lexa. Just stay with me.”

“Why do you care?”

Abby smiled wryly at her. “Because you broke my daughter’s heart and you fixed it again.”

“I broke…”

“When your body system comes under attack, your body fights back,” Abby said, as she made sure the bleeding was slowing. Jackson entered the medical ward, a handful of anticoagulants ready. “Your body comes back stronger.”

“And mine?”

“Not yours. Clarke’s.”

“Oh.”

“It does also mean bodies can be broken.” Abby said this kindly, as she administered Lexa the painkillers. She took out the equipment to stitch Lexa’s wound; luckily, they were surface wounds. The most worrying one was the gash on her stomach, and Clarke couldn’t help but stare at it. Lexa had ridden out for her, and she hadn’t even asked. “So if you break my daughter again, I will break you, Commander. Respectfully.”

Lexa chortled, wincing in pain as she did so.

Abby soothed her. “Easy, easy. Try not to make too many sudden movements.”

“Are you threatening me, Abby Griffin?”

For a split-second, Abby turned to face the window and smirked at Clarke. Disapprovingly, Clarke shook her head. A friendship between her lover and her mother was not something she wanted right now. She knew Abby would prod around their…intimate life, and Lexa would be earnest enough to say something like “yes, we have had bed-breaking sex numerous times”.

“Is that treason, Commander?”

“It depends. Will you let me love your daughter?”

Abby’s face softened, and surprising both Lexa and Clarke, she reached out to cup the Commander’s pale face. The painkillers had kicked in sufficiently so her eyes drooped, but Abby smiled all the same. “You would love her without even asking.”

* * *

“Southern Red,” Indra grunted to Kane as she rolled the last barrel off the wagon. Kane stared in silence. Just moments before, the Commander had dropped dramatically off her palfrey and wheeled off to medical. Indra behaved as if the Commander was immortal. “By Heda’s command.”

“Are you joking?” Kane asked, aghast.

Indra shrugged. “Clarke Griffin does not like our ale. Blame her.”


	3. Just You and Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “GETTING MARRIED AND HONEYMOON. Finally, I remembered one of the things I’d always wanted done. (preferably canon)”

“Clarke? Clarke kom Skaikru?”

BAM. BAM. BAM.

Clarke groaned as she rolled over in bed. Her arm flopped out and realised Lexa wasn’t on the other side, and the hammering on the door continued. It was a boy’s voice—and after a few beats of “Clarke kom Skaikru”, she recognised it as Aden’s. Rolling her eyes, she decided she was not ready for whatever bullshit he was pulling today—yet, and she would smack herself later, she flung the door open, her messy hair resembling a lion’s mane and her face resembling…thunder.

Aden, smartly dressed, nearly jumped out of his skin. “Oh no,” he said disapprovingly, shoving into the room. Offended, Clarke opened her mouth, and then Aden’s entrance was followed by a group of maids. He spoke to them. “Will you please make her look presentable?” They muttered something in Trigedasleng and Clarke, folding her arms, waited. Aden tried to keep it quiet. “Well—at least make her look like a human!”

Shit-head.

“Is that possible?” Aden carried on, because clearly he hadn’t been laid yet. “Yes? Alright—if possible, can you do it within the hour?”

They spoke as if Clarke was not there.

“Two hours?” Aden’s gaze flickered from Clarke to the floor, and nodded. “I’ll give you three.”

“Wow,” Clarke snapped, “Way to make a girl feel comfortable!”

“I was just trying—”

“Pass me my bra.”

“Er—this—bra commodity you speak of, what does it look like?”

“Oh, God.”

Clarke shucked off her tunic and Aden physically turned around in embarrassment, nearly tripping over his two feet as she slipped her bra on, quickly got changed into her everyday breeches and snatched a comb from one of the maids. “Let’s go.”

Aden looked aghast. “But—”

“Go.”

Aden extended his arm for Clarke to take as they descended the never-ending staircase of the Polisian tower. A crap design, she liked to remind Lexa, who would roll her eyes every time.

Since the quashing of Ice Nation’s rebellion, Lexa had welcomed Echo as the new Ice Queen, with her stepping into the previous Queen’s shoes. It was unstable. Echo and Lexa’s ethics regularly collided, but Echo was far more accommodating than her predecessor. What happened up North was far away from the worries of Polis, the clan leaders advised, but Lexa had been adamant that the civilians up North got the same privileges and rights as the Polisians, the Trikru…

Aden noted the blistering sunlight outside the windows as they traipsed downstairs. “We could get you better-dressed,” Aden suggested.

“D'you think I look shabby as I am?” Clarke asked.

“…No…”

“Then I’ll go dressed as this. I’m assuming Lexa wants to see me.”

“Not yet!” Aden blabbed, mentally slapping himself. Think on your feet. Improvise. Anticipate and parry. Okay. Jab. “I need to do something first.”

“I thought—”

“It isn’t urgent. If you don’t mind…” Aden played the sob-story in his head, and then he clasped his hands in front of him, bowing his head. “I need to do some shopping for my mother. The Commander is engaged for the time-being, hence why I asked for a few hours, but—my mother—she rarely sees the sunlight for she is cooped up inside for so long. Could you…?”

Clarke gripped his wrist, and squeezed lightly. “Aden, of course. Come on.”

* * *

Lexa dismounted, wiping the sweat from her brow. It had been a hellish day (or night). As soon as Clarke had fallen asleep—and she fell deeply asleep—Lexa had slipped away from the bed, nodding towards Jona, her chief City Guard by the gate. Jona had already saddled her horse and wished her a nervous “good luck”.

It seemed, as Lexa arrived by the gates to the Ark crowded by Abby, Kane, Raven, Octavia, Bellamy, Monty, Jasper and Harper—that judgement day had arrived.

“Uh,” she had began, very un-Commander-ish of her. “I would like an audience with Abby Griffin alone, please, if I may.”

“Intention?” Harper was the girl by the gates, Lexa assumed. She did not know all of Clarke’s friends.

“Confidential.”

“I can’t let you in without—”

“It’s fine,” Abby said, stepping forward to unbolt the gate. It was 3am, and the Commander of the coalition didn’t just ride here, alone, in the middle of the night, for no reason. If there was intent to harm, Lexa would’ve slain them all by now. “Commander, please step inside.”

Abby had been calm and cordial in escorting Lexa to her personal chambers, ignoring Marcus Kane’s concern. She’d brushed him off and Lexa respected that. She knew Abby Griffin as a trustworthy figure—she was a healer after all, and what were they except goodness? Kane was reasonable and fair, but he was also a politician. Lexa could empathise with him. But she knew that whatever Abby Griffin projected tonight, it would be straight from the heart—quite like her daughter.

Lexa made polite but short conversation as they walked, trying to recite the books she’d read on the topic. Their book-house was forged from stories told of the old Commanders, poetry written decades ago, and some books that had been foraged and found and returned to Polis as relics of the old earth.

Books could only get Lexa so far, though.

“You—you want to marry Clarke?” Abby repeated in disbelief, hanging her head in shock. Lexa’s ears reddened, knowing Clarke’s friends would be outside the door, their ears pressed to the solid surface. “Commander Lexa, I…just…”

“Please,” Lexa said, “Let me explain.”

Abby relented, waving her arms frantically. “Please do.”

Lexa swallowed hard, and began pacing the room—which did not help Abby, who’d sat down on the edge of her bed as if she was about to collapse. She respected Abby’s stance in this: she remembered Lexa as the heartless Commander who had left her daughter for death at Mount Weather. Despite Clarke’s residence in Polis, Lexa could try and sympathise with a mother’s dilemma. Empathy—maybe not. Clarke was happy. Clarke smiled and laughed and played with the kids in the Square. But Abby was not privy to this.

“I have been made aware that some customs of the old earth have stayed with the Sky people,” Lexa started hesitantly, trying to remember Aden’s five pages of scribbly notes. “I am also aware that when two people love each other, it is customary to gift your loved one and ask for their hand.”

Abby nodded silently, her jaw still slack. Lexa angled her head for a verbal response, but she received nothing. Slightly exasperated, but in full knowledge that she had to appear courteous, not like she had a bad case of constipation, Lexa plucked courage from thin air.

“I was also made aware that it is etiquette one must approach their loved one’s father—or in Clarke’s case, mother—to permit such a big ask.”

“Uh-huh,” Abby said faintly. “Have you been reading Georgian novels?”

“Have I—excuse me?”

“Never mind,” Abby hastened. “Are you asking me if it’s okay to marry Clarke? Wait—” she said again, before Lexa could open her mouth. “You want to marry…Clarke?”

“She may not agree to take my hand,” Lexa provided helpfully. “In such a case, my feelings for her will not fade. I will still love your daughter as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.”

Abby stared at her. The impossible answer would be “no”. Clarke and Lexa would bench it anyway—but she didn’t want to say no to this sparkly-eyed, hopeful Commander. Kane had been right. She was a revolutionary. And Abby’s desire to throttle Lexa for what occurred at Mount Weather would never go away, but the fact that Lexa had ridden all the way here just to ask for permission was something Abby didn’t want to let go. She had not seen Clarke’s face in so long; she had not heard from Clarke at all. But if Lexa was here, she could feel Clarke’s smile; her laugh…

“I will have a carriage arranged for her to discuss it with you if you wish,” Lexa said quickly, and Abby snapped out of her thoughts. “I understand it’s difficult without Clarke actually—”

“You know Clarke, Commander,” Abby laughed. “Do you really think I’d have much sway in whether she says yes or no?”

Lexa smiled reluctantly. Abby had a point.

“Your ways,” Abby murmured, “don’t always agree with what I think is right. I think you know that. Maybe our ways aren’t right either. But you rode all the way here, alone, just to ask me a question.”

“In all fairness, Abby kom Skaikru, it is not just a—”

“I know. But you asked.”

“I wanted to.”

“She’s barely an adult.” Abby closed her eyes, and Lexa watched awkwardly as a solitary tear trickled down her cheek. She did not move to comfort her; that was too strange. And she could not empathise either. Her Nightbloods—the youngest being seven—could assume command at any given minute. Childhood did not mean weakness, and though Abby seemed to mentally cradle Clarke like a baby, Lexa would not forget the three hundred warriors this child had scorched to death. She would not forget Mount Weather. She would not forget the fury and then the anguish on Clarke’s face as she tried to kill her with a concealed knife.

She would not forget. Yet here she was, because she loved.

“I’d be giving my daughter to you,” Abby said heavily, and she was not ashamed of the tears flowing from her eyes. Lexa found she did not care. “Commander, I trust you with her life—but I don’t know if I trust you with this. And this is her life.”

When Lexa rode for Polis in the early hours of the morning, beckoning her horse to pound faster through the forest, she wondered how she would cope with her heart exploding tomorrow.

* * *

Aden, it turned it, was a rubbish liar. He’d brought a singular apple from the fruit market, a bottle of wine (“for my mother”), a swishy bracelet which he gifted Clarke with (“for the future!”) and then double-backed to the fruit market only to spend over an hour asking what the odd-looking ones were, and then buying one.

As if Aden was controlled by some sort of switch, he decided they would take a walk. By now, Clarke was exasperated and tired enough to consider punching the boy’s lights out, until they made it to the wall. Jona, a familiar face, grinned broadly at her.

“Mochof, Aden,” Jona said.

“Good luck, Clarke kom Skaikru!” Aden said cheerily as he left, waving.

Clarke was completely lost, and Jona was of no help either. She spoke in riddles, and Clarke was baffled as to why everyone was being so goddamn cryptic around her all day. This was mainly Aden and his suspiciously suspicious gazes. Clarke noted the beautiful sunset, with the oranges and yellows merging with the lilacs and pinks of the sky. Another day fading, and another day on the brink tomorrow. Jona led her up the stairs to the wall-walk, and Clarke stopped in her tracks.

Lexa, dressed only in simple but smart black garb, swivelled on the spot to face her. Her hair was braided back neatly, her face slightly pale. In one hand, she held a braid of hair. The other was shoved inside a pocket. Jona left them, muttering under her breath. In the distance they both heard her yell for the guards to block passage to the wall-walk.

“Clarke,” she greeted, too formally. Clarke nearly balked. What the fuck was going on? Was Lexa in on this weird ass trip too? “I…hope you are well?”

“What?” Clarke threw her arms up in the air. “Are you part of this too? Is someone gonna come and shove some mud in my face ‘cause it’s clearly prank Clarke day?”

“Excuse me? No!” Lexa’s bafflement was genuine, and she hastily held out the familiar-looking braid of hair. Clarke stared at it, memories of water, memories of a muddy Anya—all crashing into her like a tidal wave. For some reason, Lexa had brought her up here again. “Do you remember this?”

“It’s Anya’s lock of hair,” Clarke said quietly. “I kept it for you.”

She wondered if it was Anya’s name-day today, or if there was some particular reason—

“That was the first time I met you.” Lexa’s tone was soft, and hesitantly, she trudged over towards Clarke. Her words were not as smooth and confident as Clarke was accustomed to. “I remembered your flowing light hair and your sky-blue eyes, and I wondered if she’d fallen as a product of my wishes. A cruel lesson was when I realised that no, it was not. But I ask you here today because I asked your mother, who said yes—”

“You—saw my mom?”

“Yes. And I told her I loved you. I—love—you. Do you remember, when we were last here? When the sun slept and we watched over Polis—our city—swell with life?”

Clarke felt a lump grow in her throat. “Yes.”

“I want to see that every day with you,” Lexa said simply. “I want to wake in the morning with you by my side. I want to kiss you until I cannot, because I’ve fallen asleep. I want to remind you with every waking moment that I love you. Ai hod yu in, Klark kom Skaikru.”

“Yes.” Clarke didn’t know what else to say, her eyes stinging with emotion. It was not sadness—no, it definitely was not. It was a sense of impossibility suddenly becoming possibility. They had always been inevitable together; they had never been possible—not without their duties blocking their ways. And Clarke knew despite this—whatever Lexa was going to ask, and whatever Aden had been clearly distracting her from today, that the rule would remain in place. Lexa was a lover of her people, but in her heart—which was bigger than she knew—she had carved a space for Clarke, too. “I love you too, Lexa.”

“Then be mine, as I am yours,” Lexa said. She moved closer, and then knelt on the gravelly ground. Clarke stared down at her, stunned. Her heart felt as if it had stopped. “I want my eternity to be intertwined with yours. I declare my heart as yours. I vow to treat your people as mine; I vow to caress your body and soul with nothing but love.”

Holy shit… “Lexa, you don’t need to do this—”

“I love you. As a storm may brew ahead for us one day, I will not let you fall away from me. My duty as the Commander is to my people; my duty as Lexa kom Trikru is to ask for your hand in betrothal, for I am utterly captivated by you. Every day I am more and more enamoured by your smile. Every day my hands smooth over your skin and I am entranced. Every day my heart swells when I think of you. Clarke kom Skaikru, would you do me the honour of joining your heart to mine?”

Abby’s ring, gifted to her by Jake, was now on Clarke’s finger. She glanced at it, and back at Lexa, who smiled at her.

That night, they made love. Clarke had never wished to be married, but here she was. And she kissed Lexa as she her lithe body crawled up Clarke’s, tasting herself on Lexa’s tongue. That night, they made love and that night, they worshipped each other.

* * *

“Where are we going?”

“A little patience,” Lexa teased her as she tested her new horse. It was pitch-black, named Thunder, and they trotted at a leisurely pace. Clarke’s arms wrapped around Lexa’s waist, resting her chin against the crook of Lexa’s neck as she rode. As they rode, Clarke took in the beauty of the Trikru territory—the plains just outside of the Polisian walls, the lake, and the forestry.

It was buried deep within the forest, but Lexa finally tsked at Thunder and dismounted easily, hoisting Clarke off the horse too. She quickly tied Thunder up, scruffing him by the neck, and Clarke studied the sight before her.

There was a very modest hut before her.

Clarke noticed how green the grass was, and how fresh the lake seemed to be. The hut was shoddily put together, as if it had been a single-man job. It lacked the grandiose of Polis—that was for sure. But in there were trees nearby that grew apples, and Lexa plucked one off said tree and chomped hungrily into it. Clarke didn’t even have the time to warn her about sanitation before she picked one for herself, rubbed a little consciously at it, and then bit into it. It was crisp and juicy, and she let out a moan of appreciation. Lexa’s head snapped back and she smiled lopsidedly at her.

“What is this place?” Clarke asked in wonder. If anyone wanted banishment, they should definitely come here—that was the thought running through Clarke’s mind. It was nicely done-up, and it was surrounded by life—life that was charmingly silent, compared to the hustle and bustle of Polis’ City Square.

“A reprieve,” Lexa said. “Even the Commander needs one sometimes.”

“How did you find it?”

“It found me.” Lexa, even after her grand, dramatic proposal on the wall-work of Polis, had clearly not lost the knack for a cryptic word puzzle. “Now it has found us.”

“Well, you rode towards it. So I’d argue otherwise.”

Lexa was not amused.

Together, they cracked the door open and Clarke marvelled at how clean it was; she supposed Lexa must’ve ridden for this place and given it a good tidy before Clarke’s arrival. There were fresh sheets and fur placed over the bed, with pastels and charcoal in a tin marked “KLARK” resting in the corner on top of a well-constructed desk. Other than that, everything else was basic. She assumed they would catch dinner in the woods or in the lake, and cook outside. The only other luxury Lexa had allowed was a fresh sketchbook, and far too many candles.

“It creates ambience,” Lexa said when she saw the look on Clarke’s face. “Sometimes there is a middle setting that is required between the bolstering sunlight and the pitch black darkness of the night.”

“It’s called sunset, Lexa.”

“Yes, sunset. I like sunset.”

Clarke wasn’t quite sure how to argue that back. Instead, she flopped onto the bed, and revelled in some space to just sprawl over and spread her limbs. The journey from here to Polis had been long, and she closed her eyes momentarily.

Without really thinking, a small smile spread across her face. Lexa had effectively proposed on the wall-walk, requesting they join their lives together. In many ways, Clarke figured they had unofficially married months ago. But Lexa was a stickler for tradition. She did not even want to know how many books she’d leafed through trying to figure out what Skaikru tradition was. She still needed to ask Abby what had been said—or if her mother would start vomiting rainbows at the mention.

“Are you happy?”

Lexa’s voice was gentle when she asked it, and when Clarke’s eyes slowly opened, Lexa had cocked her head to gaze at her curiously. Clarke couldn’t help but fiddle with her mom’s old ring. If this was the only message Abby could get out to Clarke in a long time, then it had worked. She knew of the depth of love between their parents.

“I’m with you,” Clarke answered.

“Does—does that make you happy?”

“It makes me think you’re an idiot for asking.”

“I won’t touch your heart except only to caress it,” Lexa promised her, just like she had on the walls of Polis, overlooking her city. “I brought you here to get away from it all. Soon we will have to return to being the Commander and Wanheda respectively. But here, no-one will find us; no-one will hear us. Here, it is safe to shuck off the skin of a Commander and wear one of Lexa kom Trikru. Likewise, it is the same with you.”

Clarke indulged herself in the idea, her natural greed coming to the forefront as she wished this could be their eternity. Lexa being her eternity was more than enough…but Lexa was not always Lexa in Polis. Sometimes, she had to execute decisions as simply the Commander. Sometimes it was not Lexa, but rather the Commander, who argued fervently over ethical issues of a situation. The promise of an escape—where Lexa could always be that tentative young woman who’d dared to open the portcullis to her heart in her tent—was entrancing.

This, she realised, was their honeymoon.

Clarke grinned when she realised, her grin slowly fading at the thought. Their honeymoon was this: a stolen moment of blissful freedom, where there were no politics, no betrayals, and no fighting. Their honeymoon was a world where only two of them existed as who they really were. One: a delinquent fallen from the sky, her eyes the colour of the world she no longer belonged in. Two: a woman with the world on her shoulders; a child of the forest and a beacon of hope for all future generations. Here they could forget genocide; betrayal; assassination; wilderness…

Here, they could revel in something Clarke had wanted, solely: Lexa.

“I’m happy,” Lexa mused. She was perching on the edge of a chair, watching as Clarke spread-eagled on the bed. “You make me happy.”

“Do I?”

“You make me smile.”

“That’s a first.”

“It’s true. You make me happy when you are here; when you’re not here I think of you and you make me happy once more. Your kiss makes me invincible. Your embrace renders me at your disposal. You, Clarke, I love. If you’ll accept this twisted heart of mine.”

Clarke shifted on the bed, shuffling to one side as she rested the side of her face on her palm, lying on one side. “Your heart’s not twisted, Lexa.”

“Beyond repair,” Lexa disagreed. “I wish my love could be gentler. But you find me scarred and ruthless and sometimes cruel.”

“I find you human,” Clarke said honestly. “If you were anything but, I wouldn’t love you the way I do.”

“How do you love me?”

“Do you want me to show you?”

Wordlessly, Lexa crawled onto the bed, and all of a sudden she was a virgin again. Clarke encouraged her, wondering how the most confident speaker in all of the realm could be reduced to this—but she did not know what was racking through Lexa’s mind. Knowing Lexa, that was probably everything.

“You needn’t kiss me any differently,” Clarke murmured, as Lexa’s hand rested on her hip. “When you kiss me, I feel everything. I always have.”

And so Lexa kissed her.

She kissed her, gently, tentatively—just like the very first kiss they’d shared. It was an exploration; a test. Lexa kissed her as if she’d never kissed her before, her lips brushing tenderly over Clarke’s as her grip on Clarke’s waist tightened ever so slightly. Clarke cupped both of Lexa’s cheeks in her hand and returned passionately, coaxing Lexa’s lip open.

“Trust me,” Clarke whispered against her mouth, and slipped her tongue in, brushing their noses together as they drew apart. She nibbled on Lexa’s bottom lip, giggling softly at Lexa’s rakish grin, and knocked their foreheads together. “We’re in this together.”

“The sky always joins the earth; it was a matter of destiny,” Lexa said hoarsely. “It is of luck you are of the sky. Together I believe we can take the world back.”

“Us two?”

“Maybe they’ll write stories of us. Not of how we fought for peace, but of how we loved. How we broke each other and pieced each other back together. How we ruled the world because you believed in me, and I believed in you, and that candle never blew out.”

“Maybe,” Clarke agreed, “but I don’t give a fuck about stories right now.”

“No?”

“No.”

Clarke kissed her again, surging up to meet Lexa’s lips as they kissed properly this time, all cover of shyness and tenderness vanishing in an instant. She yanked Lexa by the waist, causing her to grunt in surprise as she involuntarily rolled over Clarke’s body, straddling her hips. Clarke’s hands roamed her body greedily as they wriggled out of their clothes, laughing as they tossed them anywhere and everywhere. Wanton fingernails sunk into the soft flesh of Lexa’s ass, and Lexa shuddered as she dipped her head down, her kiss full of bite and tongue.

“Someone’s keen,” Clarke panted between kisses as Lexa ravished her. Her lips flew everywhere, from licking their way down the length of Clarke’s neck to clamping her teeth down by her collarbone. With every kiss and lick and suck and bite, Clarke’s back arched in pleasure, her head thrown back against the pillows as Lexa feasted on her, cherishing every contour of her body.

“You’re so beautiful,” Lexa mumbled against her sternum, her hands deftly pushing Clarke’s underwear out of the way.

“Come here,” Clarke beckoned.

Lexa, placing soft kisses on Clarke’s breasts, gently clamped down on her nipple, her tongue swirling. She smiled at the way Clarke groaned in response, but she did as she was told, encouraged by Clarke’s hand.

“Grab onto the headboard,” Clarke said firmly.

“Clarke—”

“Heda.”

Lexa had very few weaknesses, but Clarke calling her Commander—even if it was out of jest or just to get her own way—was far too easy. The power-trip she had was so stupidly immense that Clarke had to mock her for it—and the way she fell for it every time. Lexa’s hands gripped tightly onto the railing of the headboard, her arm muscles rippling as she did so. Clarke placed her hands either side of Lexa’s thighs, clamping down to hold her in position.

“Say it.” Clarke had her own ways. “Say 'fuck me’.”

Lexa obliged. “Fuck me.”

“Mm.” Clarke dipped her tongue in, feeling Lexa’s growing wetness as she pressed the flat of her tongue hard against Lexa’s lips. Her hips immediately jerked, but Clarke held her steady, gently tracing her tongue against the outer lips of Lexa’s cunt.

“Please.” Lexa was breathless as Clarke teased her, her teeth grazing against her inner thigh, her tongue swirling over the skin she bit. “Fuck me, Clarke.”

Clarke’s hands held her down as she thrust her tongue inside of her, satisfied all the way to the bottom of her belly and the overbearing ache between her legs as Lexa cried out in pleasure, bucking her hips as Clarke lapped up Lexa’s wetness. She did not have to do a thing. She sucked at Lexa’s sensitive clit, her darkened eyes flicking up to watch Lexa’s sweaty body rock above hers, her forehead glistening with sweat. Her fists clenched harder against the headboard, and Clarke raked her fingernails up Lexa’s back, digging her nails in so they’d leave scratch marks all over. She knew how sexy Lexa found it; how badly she wanted to be marred by Clarke’s lust and affection. Lexa rolled her hips, desperately trying to keep up with Clarke’s rhythm but Clarke wasn’t doing a thing: it was all Lexa.

And it was a magical sight; the stuff of fantasies. Lexa, a goddess in her own right, throwing her head back as she came loudly in Clarke’s mouth, her body spasming in sheer bliss. A mortal’s tongue had driven a goddess crazy; a mortal’s tongue had robbed the legendary Commander, a myth in centuries to come, speechless and dry-mouthed and buzzing with ecstasy as she came hard. If Lexa was a goddess, then Clarke was drinking the honeyed nectar.

Oh, but they were so human. It was why they hid from the world upon such an occasion; they 'married’ in-secret, officiated by Kane and proudly escorted by her mother. Clarke thought with a laugh what her mother would say if she walked in on them now.

Lexa rolled off her, utterly spent and exhausted. She breathed hard, lolling her head back. Jok.

“This is why Sky people wish to become betrothed,” Lexa deduced. Clarke was so in awe of watching her that she didn’t even bother correcting how utterly and hilariously wrong Lexa was.

“Sure…”

“Here, we are Clarke and Lexa,” Lexa said, heavy-lidded eyes filled to the brim with dark desire. She turned to face Clarke. “It is noon. I do not want to stop ravishing your body until the birds caw in the morning.”

Clarke smirked at her. “Yeah?”

“I will make love to you,” Lexa said softly, and then she said: “then I will—” she tested the word on her lips, “—fuck you. I will do it  so hard you will scream my name so loud that the Polisians will wonder who is calling from the Trikru territory.”

“You’re all words,” Clarke laughed, raking a hand through her sweaty hair. “If you could, you’d do it.”

“I do not make promises I cannot keep.”

It took them four days to ride back to Polis as they both complained of an ache down there as they rode Thunder.

So this was how a Grounder-Skaikru wedding would be like, then…


	4. Polis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd truly forgotten about this one but I confess this, as well as Abby's oneshot in 'The Ends of the Earth' (on this account) is my favourite one-shot. I miss Anya.

"Impossible." Anya took one look at the site before them, and laughed. "You're insane."

"I'm the Commander."

 

* * *

 

When Lexa kom Trikru, perhaps the smallest of the Nightbloods, staggered from the woods in the pitch-black night, stunned silence fell upon the murmuring and cheering crowd. In front of tens and hundreds of seasoned warriors, village chiefs, Seconds, healers, tutors...Lexa tripped over her aching feet. She registered no pain as she slammed against the marshy ground, her eyes drooping as one side of her face rested against the coolness of the forest-floor mud.

Black blood had dried on her arms, drenched her hands, and stained her tunic. Her sword had been abandoned a few feet away from her, and her right hand was loosely holding her dagger—her usual weapon of choice.

Lexa was best when it came to close combat. In round three, big Leeviu had wielded a spear, and Lexa had nearly found herself impaled. Hand-to-hand combat, speed, agility, intelligence and stamina were her strengths—but stamina failed her tonight as she practically collapsed in front of everyone.

Her mind blanked as she thought: _I killed my friends tonight_. Was this what a Commander had to do? Kill a friend? Kill multiple friends? Kill _all_ of them until you were the last one standing? Lexa barely had any breath to consider how sick that was.

The _Fleimkepa,_ a bald man marked ritually with every Nightbloods' black blood over his head and face, was the first to reach out, his eyes wide in surprise.

"Lexa kom Trikru," he said shakily, loud enough so everyone could hear. "Do you remain the last of the Nightblood trials?"

They all knew of the draws. It had been publicly displayed so everyone was ensured no cheating had been allowed. Lexa, exhausted, fished a braid from her pocket. Tied around the braid was the signature ribbon of Perie of the Stone Clan, a lean and tall girl who'd wielded two short-swords and was quick as lightning. Lexa breathed into the earth, embracing Trikru forestry—the world that had birthed her—and briefly knew that she would be hauled into a very new place very soon. So she closed her eyes and smelled the mud; smelled her home. She had the trees for bones and Trikru determination pulsating in her veins. Tiredly, she slid the braid over towards Titus, who picked it up and examined it.

" _Jok_ ," she heard her tutor, Anya, whisper as she raced over. Titus held out a stern arm for her to stand back, but Anya resisted. "Lexa—can you hear me?"

Everything sounded so muffled, but Anya's voice was clear as day. "I killed," she said blankly.

She could not see the disbelieving crowd gathered around her, but she felt their shock emanate from them. She felt the same.

"Let it be," Titus declared when the Stone Commander confirmed that it was indeed Perie's braid. "This night we honour Oliss the Tender's tragic death and we crown a new Nightblood as our _Heda_. The Nightblood trials have been fair and lengthily discussed. Tonight, in the forest and the black blood spilled in sacrifice for our First Commander and saviour of the old world, creator of the new, we crown Lexa kom Trikru our _Heda_." Titus knelt before her, and Lexa didn't move a muscle. She could feel his ice-cold forefinger dab at her still-bleeding upper arm slash-wound, a gift from the fourth round.

Lexa felt like she was going to _die_. Painfully slowly, he took the bowl of water prepared for him by one of the Seconds and washed his face. Clear of black blood, he smeared Lexa's over his forehead in some sort of symbol, and stood up.

" _Heda_ ," he pronounced. "Our _Heda_!"

Lexa groaned in pain, drowned out by the loud cheers of the night crowd. She did not listen to them. The only thing she could hear was deathly silence from Anya.

 

* * *

 

"Impossibility is a pessimistic outlook on life, Anya," Lexa said as she examined the ruins of her chosen city. Commanders had ruled from the crumbling Polisian tower, but the rest of the place was a complete mess. People scarcely lived here unless they had no choice at all. Mostly, they lived within their villages in specified clan territories. It had only been chosen as the Commander's seat because of its association with Becca. Lexa did not understand why the Commander had to rule in the midst of nothing, revelling in the utmost luxury whilst people died of starvation literally just beyond the walls of the Polisian Tower. Why had none of the previous Commanders _done_ anything? "Watch me: by the time I am finished with Polis, I will build a throne constructed by the Trikru craftsmen themselves. There will be candles to represent the ever-lasting light of the Commanders gone, and the top of the Polisian tower will be marked by the grandest of all, as a sign of hope. Polis is our light; our beacon."

"You've gone mad," Anya assessed. "I can't believe _I_ trained you, and you turned out like this."

"Wise and promising?"

"Mad!"

Lexa chuckled, and Anya snuck a sideways glance at her, silent pride blossoming in her chest. Lexa had just turned fourteen, but she fitted into her snug, lightweight black Commander suit like she had been born into it. Whenever she attended formal meetings and was fitted with armour and the Commander's red sash, she looked a miracle. Every time she swept into the room she held power over older, more experienced figures; she spoke articulately in every single meeting, and cleverly too. She spoke as if she had been Commander for decades.

Allying clans had been one thing. Lexa still had some Commanders to meet. But pitching _this_ idea—especially to strong-headed chiefs such as Bryce of the Water People and Dain of the Mountain People—had been a struggle. The idea of turning a ruin into a well-functioning, civilised city was outrageous. Yet the Commander's seat was within the Polisian tower. Legend had it that Becca, the First Commander, ruled from that very tower. And so Lexa had argued: why leave Becca's location of reign as a ruin? Should a Commander rule from high-walled civilisation, or should a Commander rule surrounded by slums, prostitutes and drunken scum?

The meeting was as brutal as the way Lexa swiftly and graciously took down every single question. It was like a fight, with each clan leader approaching the arena one-by-one. When the meeting finished, Titus, their Flamekeeper, was stunned by the unanimous agreement of Lexa's plans. He'd disapproved of the "dreamer's capital" like every other clan leader—but he could not make a move as Lexa passed the motion due to the unanimous vote in her favour.

"It isn't far from Trikru territory," Anya said thoughtfully.

"It is the First Commander's revered seat—and all Commanders before her," Lexa said. "It is a wonder how no Commander thought of this solution."

"It isn't far from Trikru territory," Anya repeated, folding her arms.

Lexa swivelled, her hands clasped behind her back. Anya knew that look on her face. The way Lexa's lips quirked lopsidedly, well-trained to suppress her smile. "How very observant of you, Anya."

"How are you such a smart-ass _nomonjoka_ at fourteen?"

"I learned from the very best."

 

* * *

 

Indra, chief of TonDC, had been drafted to Polis to lead the construction team of the wall. Lexa wanted it built first. It had to be high, thick and grand. She drew blueprints of a portcullis, and made sure that a wall-work was a necessity—she wanted to walk along these walls someday and look over her creation. They would be crenulated so the merlons would provide archers with necessary protection should their one-day almighty capital came under siege.

Lexa supposed, realistically, it _would_ —and she already had the scheming Queen Nia of the Ice Nation in mind. She ruled over one clan, but they had the largest territory and population. Their disadvantage was that if she succeeded in her coalition, every single clan would be a stopping point in their army's march down; her ace up the sleeve was pulling Nia into the coalition herself.

But enough about Nia. Lexa was sick of thinking about her, and her nation's empty threats. Instead, she surveyed as Indra barked orders towards the construction team. One team had been assigned the task of the drawbridge, which they initially constructed on the plains with wood "fresh from Trikru", Indra had announced proudly.

The rest of them were busy with exact measurements of the merlons up above. The wall had long been constructed. It was _huge_ , and impressively thick. It had taken months and months of work, and Lexa knew Indra had been away from her village for a very long time. She struggled to think of how to reward her.

"I am sorry this extracts you from your chiefdom duties," Lexa told her truthfully as they walked around the walls, just the two of them. "To be frank, I trust very few people to exact the important jobs properly."

"I will do as my _Heda_ commands," Indra said. "If you shall take me away from TonDC for years to fight a war, I will do so. Where you go, I follow. Where you need me, I hope to advise."

"Thank you, Indra."

"Thank _you_ , _Heda_."

Lexa smiled at her, and clapped her on the back. She was close to Indra—but their relationship was not like hers and Anya's. She could not deck Indra in the face and vice versa. It was formal— _too_ formal—but after years of knowing her, Lexa knew it was simply Indra's way of behaving. And Lexa respected that. She never wished for Indra to change because of her, or change only in front of her—so Lexa adjusted accordingly to everyone she met. _She_ was the Commander. She was the change. Not Indra. Not Anya. Not Gustus.

"It should not be long now, _Heda_ ," Indra told her. "The walls have been built. They need brushing up, but they are as thick as you wanted them. There are few merlons left to complete, and of course we need to work on the portcullis to the exact configurations. But..." Indra and Lexa stopped walking to examine the sheer _height_ of the impressive structure, and though Indra did not smile, Lexa could feel pride radiate from her. "Polis will be impenetrable."

 "That's what I hope," Lexa said good-naturedly. "I will not have Becca's seat seized by some folly."

"It won't. But we are working on the outside." Indra hesitated, but Lexa waved her on. Any opinion was welcome—even the less favourable ones. Titus had spoken of his disapproval of the capital since day one, though Lexa had suspected he'd thawed at the idea of getting his own chamber within the Tower. "Are you not concerned about what lies inside these walls? Polis is a poor place. It is unsanitary and barely a city, let alone a place to live."

"That's what I will have to change," Lexa murmured. "I'll have to _make_ it a capital."

"Do you mind sharing your plans, _Heda_?"

"Well...I require manpower," Lexa said flatly. "And I require heavy belief."

 

-

 

"It's a simple enough conversion," Konner, Lexa's chief cartographer, explained. "This used to be a storage facility—a massive pantry, if you will—but it is only a matter of cleaning the walls, cleaning the stone floor, and clearing everything out. You do not need tasked men for this, _Heda_. You only need a few days of strength."

"There will be no design quirks?" Lexa asked, a little disappointed.

Konner smiled at her. "Well, I have never been to an _art-house_ , and nor have I ever sketched blueprints for one. I do not know what an art-house looks like."

"Neither do I."

"You...requested this, _Heda_ —"

"I'm building blind," Lexa confessed as they strolled through the seemingly never-ending food storage facility. It must have been for oats and potatoes and the sort. It did not feel chilly here. "There are designs a city must have. Refurbishment of the Tower is already under place. The wall is up. The longer I look, the more I see of them as battlements. I'm not building a city, Konner. I never was. I'm building battlements. I'm building a strong-hold. A fort."

"Is it so unwise to do so? Years and years of fighting won't just _stop_. With a new Commander they may even flare up even more frequently. Building a fort to protect the Commander's blessed seat is not exactly an act of war and nor is it an outsider worry."

"Mm."

Lexa trusted Konner. He had been distrusted by _everyone_. Originating from the North, Konner was born _Azgeda_ and had escaped home when he was just a boy. Taken in by an unknowing tree family, his trouble with Trikru dialect and tufty red hair singled him out as an orphan of the North. But Konner had been thrown away by his adopted family to a newly ascended Commander of the Trikru: Lexa. She saw two words: _Azgeda_ and orphan. She said, firmly, that the latter was of much more importance.

Konner had travelled everywhere with Lexa ever since. Every war they'd waged, Konner was the cartographer every night as he mapped out the enemy terrain for Lexa, risking his life in the darkness. Nobody would know of his death unless he failed to return. But he did, every morning.

Every morning, he would debrief Lexa, improve his sketches and doze off. And every morning, Konner became more of a confidante to Lexa—who'd endured a whole day's worth of briefings, meetings and uproars—in his absence.

"You've built your sparring pits," Konner noted. "The Polisian Tower, arguably the most important building in this project, is near-completion. Why add this?"

"Because Polis is far from finished. We will build houses. We will build inns and blacksmith workshops and healer facilities and prayer houses and book houses. Lastly, you will customise your own house with endless reach of our coalition's pooled funding." Konner opened his mouth to dispute this, but Lexa stopped him. "Your wife is new is she not? And are you not with child? I don't want you living a half-life in some village that barely recognises you for your work and your loyalty. Polis _will_ be great, Konner. Believe me—and then live in my city."

"I _do_ believe you. By the spirits, you are building an _art-house_!" Konner exclaimed. "But I cannot use your kindness so. I _thank_ you, _Heda,_ because I would not want to live anywhere you are not—but—"

"But what? You have been an essential part of assembling this coalition. You have been a friend. I have never rewarded you in coin; only a bed to sleep in and food for your three meals of the day. Now I must reward you properly."

" _Heda,_ your kindness is—"

"It isn't kindness." Lexa's eyes were soft as Konner knelt before her, his head bowed. He was going to reject her, but Lexa knew of his village. They could kill him the instant he was weak, and with a new babe coming, that was unfair. At least in Polis, Konner's security would not be in question. "It's an order."

Konner genuinely didn't know what to say. "An order? For me to live in Polis?"

"Yes."

The silence Konner emitted was a 'yes'—or so Lexa took it. Bemused and baffled acceptance. He slowly rose to his feet, his eyes scanning the massive storage space. Polis would need a larger one. He'd already seen Lexa's submitted plans for housing and it was beyond belief. There would also have to be a Square constructed close to the Tower where the stall-sellers and fortune-readers could set their future up. That made sense. The Polisian Tower's additions made sense. The throne room. The Commander's chambers. The Flamekeeper's chambers. The guard's rooms. Guest rooms. The Nightbloods' shared sleeping hall. The sparring pit made sense. Everything made sense—except for this absurd art-house.

"Why art?" Konner mused aloud. Lexa shrugged beside him. "I cannot think of a clan known for its art. I mean, the Sun clan perhaps for its notorious luxury and flamboyance, but that does not make them artists."

"It is nothing to do with the clans," Lexa said shortly. She could feel her stomach twist as she spoke of it, tightening. _I can see it in the stars_ , she wanted to tell him, but she could not confide even in Konner about that. She imagined the ceiling of the art-house painted with the night sky and glittering with stars, and closed her eyes. "All citizens will be civilised. All Warriors will read; they shall speak Old English; they shall plan and plot as well as they fight. Perhaps they shall take up art too."

"And if they don't?"

"Then they will find another hobby. I don't know, Konner. Our soldiers should not just be blank-minded hulks of muscle."

"You're accompanying everyone too much. Less than half of this city will be able to read. Fewer will have any medical knowledge. Fewer will be able to draw anything other than obscenities."

"But that's exactly what Polis is: _too much_."

"If you do not mind my boldness, _Heda_ , but... _you_ are too much," Konner laughed, and Lexa hit him good-naturedly, smiling. "You speak of so many things."

"They were impossibilities once, were they not?"

"I remember it being said, yes."

"Look at us now," Lexa said proudly, as they stood in the middle of a near pitch-black ex-storage house. "We're building the realm's first-ever house of art."

 

* * *

 

Lexa had been examining the throne for about ten minutes now. Every curve of twisted, polished wood sticking out and the jagged imperfection of it was exactly what she'd wanted. If her new home was Polis then the throne she would sit upon would be constructed, polished and designed by Trikru hands. Lexa's hands marvelled over the throne. "I don't want regal," she'd said to the construction team, "I want powerful and I want uneasiness." It hadn't been an easy blueprint— _words_ , that was—but...

She sat down on the throne, her posture perfect as always. Her arms rested on the sleek sides of the chair, and she closed her eyes. _Now_ she truly felt like the Commander.

The double-doors pushed open and Anya, startled by the room's decor, took two steps and then abruptly stopped. " _Whoa_ ," she breathed, letting out a low whistle. She dared at Lexa, decked out in her full uniform complete with the sash, sat atop her ethereal throne as the window behind her basked her in sunlight. For the very first time, Anya strode up to her and felt comfortable and kneeling before her and bowing her head. " _Heda_."

"What do you think?" Lexa asked her smugly, when she hopped down the mini-steps and helped Anya to her feet. "Still impossibility?"

"I've seen the new houses," Anya said. "You're using the space well. The Square, I'm sure, will look great post-construction. But..." Anya smiled at her, and she felt pride swell in her chest. She'd had Seconds before—some had lasted mere _days_ —but there was none quite like Lexa. She'd taken the slum village the starved population had created for themselves and re-housed every single one of them and their families. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"Sincerely?"

" _Very_ sincerely."

Perhaps there was a childish light in Lexa that couldn't help but be switched on whenever she pleased her once-mentor. They both glanced around the throne room. The carpet beneath them was crimson-red, and Lexa dreamt of the Nightbloods she'd teach here. She'd already scribbled down notes for their first lesson. The room at the very top would be used for clan meetings, and held every prospective leader's ornate, hopeful seats—should she accomplish her mission of a twelve-clan coalition.

Yesterday she had returned to her home village within Trikru territory to celebrate her name day. It had been a modest feast, and villagers frequently apologised for the lack of grandeur. But for her big ambitions here and the fancy art and book houses, she relished the smell of the trees and the feel of the long-growing grass between her fingers again. Home was home, and the feast had not been modest. It had been rich with love for the Commander, and the Sun clan readily supplied wine and luxurious desserts Lexa brought with her for the Trikru villagers to try.

"I don't know how you look so fresh," Anya remarked. "I nearly didn't make it to Polis at the sheer thought of having to bend over and vomit."

Lexa grimaced at the mental image. "I drink responsibly."

"You _bore_. It was your name day!" Anya laughed, and clapped her amiably on the back.

"We will have breweries," Lexa decided. "I spoke with the Sun Commander and she said it is not difficult. We have already started brewing mead for our new inns; we will brew Polisian wine, and it will become a staple of our capital."

"I think your capital's already made quite the statement," Anya chuckled, "but I'm not objecting to you brewing wine."

"Finally: something you motion through straightaway."

"It _is_ wine."

"Does it even count?" Lexa reconsidered good-naturedly.

Anya grinned at her and took a step back. Lexa was sixteen now. She was still too young for all of this, but she had accomplished everything a legendary warrior had. She'd pulled most of the clans into her coalition and Anya imagined she had simply charmed their socks off. Lexa had one clan left: the Ice Nation.

She promised she'd heeded all of Anya's warnings. She would wait—months, if it had to be—before reaching out to Nia. Anya knew she was distracted by that Costia girl of hers anyway, the herbalist's daughter, who'd automatically been given one of the biggest stalls in the Square. Anya near rolled her eyes. Lexa was never subtle about matters of the heart.

But she could not help but see the change Lexa had made. In spits and spats, she had barely seen Lexa in two years. And now, standing before her, was a once-skinny, now-lithe, tall girl of sixteen. She had lost her baby-fat and her jaw-line was strong, as were her determined eyes, and she held herself straight at a posture that practically said "POWER". Her stringy arms were slim and muscular, her body toned and fit rather than just thin. But more so than that, upon taking on this impossible task, she'd calmed a raging war, forged a coalition and Anya exhaled with sheer pride. It felt like she was witnessing the maturing of her child into adulthood.

"Sit on the throne," Anya said quietly.

"Excuse me?"

Anya repeated herself, a little louder.

Lexa strolled easily across the room, and Anya noted-she had _swagger_ about her now—and skipped up the steps. Swivelling on the spot, she sat ram-rod straight on the throne, resting both arms. Her fingers curled around the edges of the chair-arms. Lexa looked like a painting. A glorious one. Decked out in her lightweight armour and topped off with the sash, the only thing missing was her war-paint—but they weren't at war anymore. Lexa sat in uneasy silence, waiting for her mentor to say something. But Anya didn't. She couldn't get the words out. Seeing her ex-Second shine of power, confidence and—she _was_ the Flame—Anya hadn't felt she'd earned it in the trials, but now?

"You are my _Heda_ ," Anya marvelled faintly, shaking her head in disbelief. "You..."

"You are my Anya," Lexa returned.

Anya's heart clenched and she chuckled softly. Her new Second was Tris, and she was proving to be a fine warrior. But Anya knew a person could strike gold only once in their life, and she had struck gold with Lexa. Her feet tugged her towards the throne, and she slowly moved up the steps and knelt directly before Lexa's seat. Taking Lexa's right hand, she kissed every knuckle.

"Lexa kom Trikru," Anya whispered. "I am honoured by your presence."

"As I am yours," Lexa said quietly, "General of the Trigedakru."

"I will fight for you, always," Anya vowed, though she'd vowed similarly as she took the role of General. This, however, was entirely unscripted. Lexa's heart slammed against her ribcage as Anya rested her forehead against her knuckles. "I will make your peace in areas that need them. I will defend you and I will give you my life."

It _had_ to be Anya to rob the first vows within the throne room. Lexa slid off her throne and knelt before Anya too, and held her hand. She tilted Anya's chin up. Any closer and they'd kiss (Lexa tried not to think of how _weird_ that was) and Lexa nodded.

"As long as I bleed black and true, I will give you my blessing as my General to perform my military duties for me within the Trikru," Lexa said firmly. She had been away from her people—the trees and the earth and the woods—for too long. They needed someone like Anya to lead their army—not Lexa, who was too far away. "You taught me the ways of a warrior."

"And now you are Commander."

"Who will teach me that?" Lexa asked, frowning. "As you were my mentor, would you--?"

"No." Anya didn't even have to think twice. "You would need a wise council for that. Not myself."

"Anya, I trust you and you only with my life...I cannot take tutelage from anyone else—"

"Yes, you can, and you _will_. You must."

"Anya—"

"I will assemble your council. Believe me, if I thought I could stay on and tutor you, I would—but I cannot. I have given you everything I know. There are those who know much more than myself." Anya smiled at her. "You have always been a bright child. People already attach the word 'revolutionary' to your name."

"I want to spend my days in Polis advised by _you_."

"You and I know I have duties back with the Trikru," Anya said. "Trust me."

"I do trust you."

"Look at you."

Anya was never one for motherly pride—but as she gripped Lexa by her slim, toned arms, she could not help but admire the intricate delicacy of her outfit. It screamed ' _Heda_ '. Lexa was sixteen, and if she was Anya's daughter, she would not be able to give Lexa up at such a tender age to such a savage job of overseeing the Grounders. But Lexa did not have those parents to give up. Surprising both herself and Lexa, she pulled Lexa in for a tight embrace and closed her eyes as Lexa instantly stopped resisting and hugged her back as if she had been waiting her entire life for this moment.

" _Ste yuj_ , Lexa," Anya whispered in her ear.

Lexa smiled. " _Ste yuj,_ Anya."

 

\--

 

 

Polis was near-completion with the exception of a few more houses. That, she trusted Konner with. Urgent news had summoned them to Trikru territory—back home—as Anya and Indra reported in their letters of hostile land theft. Lexa had told Gustus to take his time in the stables saddling the horses as she climbed the walls, nodding at her Chief City Guard, and for the very first time, looked over her city.

Her fingers traced over the wall-walk and the top of the merlons, and she felt Trikru sweat and exhaustion penetrate her system. She watched the candle burn atop the Polisian tower: a beacon of hope and light for all those lost in the darkness. She heard laughter and boisterous singing below, an indicator that the inn was swinging in full-action. She had been birthed from the trees and raised by the forest, but she'd placed her heart and soul into making Polis everything she'd promised it to be.

" _Heda_ ," Gustus called up, and Lexa leaned over the gap between the merlons and peered down at him. He waved up at her. "The horses are ready."

"I wish you could join me up here," Lexa shouted back down at him. "This view..."

"We are running low on time, _Heda_ ," Gustus said regrettably. " _Heda_ , I beg your company when we return, and we will watch over this city at sundown."

Lexa grinned down at him. "Let's go home, Gustus."

 

* * *

 

Gustus never got to see the views of Polis from the wall-walk.

 

* * *

 

_"You should come with me to the capital. Polis will change the way you think about us."_

_"You already have."_

Lexa stared blankly at the spot she'd reserved for Clarke. She rested her torch in a sconce and sat with her knees drawn to her chest. A surprising number of people had participated in submitting their works of art to the art-house, and it looked basic but beautiful that way. Yet there was always one empty space, and Lexa wondered if would remain empty forever.

She had reserved a spot and a tin of pastels, charcoal and chalk for Clarke. It rested just beneath the reserved space, and it was all Lexa could think about.

Tonight she had watched families reunited with their husbands, sons, wives, mothers—it had been the blessed day of giving, so folklore now said, for war had returned their soldiers safe and sound to those who prayed. Lives had been lost, but to witness the majority fall back had been a wonder itself.

Lexa knew tomorrow would bring whispers of the Mountain slayer. Indra had already relayed the news to her, and in Polis, news spread like a disease. She knew from tomorrow onwards, she would have to fight to prove her strength; she would have to think of a long-term strategy to ensure her position on the throne.

Briefly, she didn't want it anymore. All Commandership had brought her was _hurt_. It had broken her heart—twice, now. Seeing weeping families reunited with their loved ones was a strong reminder of why this crusade was so important. Lexa knew that if she was to be seen as weak or strong by her people, it mattered neither way—so long as her people were safe, then she had done her duty. So long as her people were _happy_ , she had done her duty. But selfishly, it had crept up on her. The idea of love. The idea of that co-existing with her duty. The idea that one day, Clarke would come to Polis and Lexa would be able to kiss her again, to taste the stars and the skies she'd dreamt of since she was a little girl, once more. She had allowed weakness to seep into her soul. She thought of Clarke and she thought of watching the sun set with her by her beloved wall-walk. She longed to introduce Clarke to her new class of Nightbloods, particularly Aden, who had proven himself to be promising and strong.

Mostly, Lexa thought as she gazed hollowly at the brick wall before her with a crass 'KLARK' scrawled over it, she wished she could see Clarke's drawings again. Here. In Polis. She had left her soul here; she wanted Clarke to carve right into it. She wanted Clarke's world and the way she saw it and drew it marking her from the inside, just like her Ascension day back markings and her clan affiliation. Except they were on flesh.

 _Wanheda_ , Indra reported back to her. The Commander of Death. Indra had told her the filtered down story of what Clarke had done that day, and Lexa hoped with all her might it hadn't been true. All Indra could say beyond that was that the Mountain People were a threat no longer.

Lexa knew what would ensue. She had hoped political games—especially ones including Clarke—would stop after they took the Mountain. She had hoped she would storm the Mountain and bloodily avenge her People and rescue them—with Clarke. But when Emerson had crawled up to her, smirking like he'd already won (and he had) with a deal that was impossible to refuse, Lexa felt her hope fade away. She would win all of her warriors back, but she would lose the heart she'd tentatively passed to Clarke the day prior. She reunite soldiers and families, but not even Polis' big, burning beacon of hope could rescue her from the haunting visions that flashed before her, of Clarke's tearful eyes, and the pleading tremor in her voice.

Indra would find her in the same spot tomorrow, staring at the same space, her eyes hollowed out in fatigue and heartache. And Lexa kom Trikru would fight.

 

-

 

"I draw you with your class of Nightbloods," Clarke said, smiling at Lexa. "We just...me and Titus...we just observed that day. And you were so different. You—you had this fun gentle loving bit of cheek, and I just...It was the first picture that came to me, so vibrantly. So I drew it."

Lexa stared, mouth nearly falling open, at Clarke's drawing. It covered the entire space and it was as if she had taken a snap-shot and put it on the wall of Lexa's art-house. Clarke, smudged with charcoal and pastel and all sorts over her plain tunic, grinned proudly at her.

"It's beautiful," Lexa said without realising. "It's..."

"...You," Clarke finished for her.

Lexa turned to look at her, and found she had absolutely nothing to say. It seemed so long ago now, that Roan had found the realm's _Wanheda_. It seemed an age ago she'd killed Nia; that she'd introduced Clarke to Aden. It seemed like a lifetime ago Titus had accidentally shot her, and she'd woken, parched and witness to Clarke's flowing tears. She shed them whilst she was unconscious and she shed them as she woke up. "There was no winning with her," Aden had told Lexa exasperatedly.

She internalised her laugh, and reached over to hold Clarke's hand.

"I will never leave you," she promised lowly.

Clarke bit her lip. "You could've promised me that before you got shot. We can't predict everything in life, Lexa."

"No, we can't."

"We can't give up our obligations to our people. You definitely can't. It's not like we can just run."

"No. We can't."

"Will you stop with those repetitive answers?"

"Sorry," Lexa apologised, holding her hands up. "I just can't stop thinking."

"About what?"

"This."

Lexa took Clarke's cheeks with both hands of hers and kissed her gently, her lower lip gently tugging on Clarke's for permission. Coaxing her mouth open, she slipped her tongue into Clarke's mouth, eliciting a quiet moan from her. She would kiss Clarke forever; here; on the wall-walk; in their bedroom. She would hold Clarke forever. She would love Clarke forever. Lexa eagerly deepened their kiss, aware of the hot, shooting pain in her abdomen—and wincing as it poked at her. Leaning in for another kiss, she found Clarke's head moving back slightly as she watched Lexa out of concern.

"Slowly," Clarke told her. She squeezed Lexa's hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Lexa nodded. "Neither am I. My soul is in Polis; my heart is with you. Where am I to go?"

Clarke smiled, and rested her forehead against Lexa's. Sometimes, she was an idiot. Most of the time, Clarke enjoyed falling in love with her over and over again.


	5. Celestial Witness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was posted on A Board. I found it in a very deeply-hidden folder. It's weirdly only titled as "weird oneshot random".

Maybe Clarke was being too easy on her.

Within the third day of Lexa being conscious enough to utter a "hello, Clar- _kkk-e_ ", Clarke had reluctantly agreed to let her out of the bedroom, because apparently, even when dosed up on Nyko's pain potion, Lexa still had the capacity to talk for Polis. And she'd pled a case of being cooped up within the Polisian tower like a chained dog with no hope of sunshine (despite the sun streaming through the window) or freedom (she'd been _shot_ ) or hope (she was _alive_ ).

Then again, Lexa had made a tempting case. So at nightfall, as Polis still thrived and swelled with music and joy and wonderful chaos, like there had been no drama with their near-dying Commander at all, Clarke and Lexa trudged down the stairs.

"I hope you realise your design of this—tower," Clarke said, as Lexa grunted with every third step, "is probably the stupidest thing ever. What if you were so tired you could barely walk, and then you had to walk five thousand billion steps just to flop on your bed?"

"Then it would make the effort worth it," Lexa said blandly. She looked decidedly pale. Clarke knew she wasn't feeling well at all, but she understood Lexa when she spoke about what essentially surmounted to cabin fever. Lexa didn't know the word for it in Old English, and Clarke hadn't given it to her. Lexa seemed to like the fact that she could somewhat effortlessly go on her tangents and speeches without wincing in pain every half a minute, so Clarke allowed the occasional soliloquy. It was nice to hear Lexa's voice on a continuous beat, instead of Clarke hearing her own every single day, talking to thin air as she hoped Lexa would wake. As her voice wavered with emotion every time the possibility of her not waking slammed into her like another one of Titus' bullets.

They made it to the bottom of the tower with relatively little fuss, their arguments futile and petty. Clarke extended her arm and Lexa, discarding her pride in the night, took it. She did not make a comment about Clarke supporting her weight, or thank her, but Clarke took the amicable silence as just that.

"Are you leading the way?" Clarke asked quietly, unnecessarily, as Lexa's feet traipsed somewhere of their own accord. They headed away from the boisterous crowd outside one of the inns, and towards the gates. Lexa smiled sideways at her.

The Polisian Guards startled at the sight. "Heda," one of them said in astonishment. He was tall, burly and fair-haired—and surely the first commoner to see their Commander after the shooting. The guard shucked his helmet off, as if the dim light was deceiving him. "You—you are well?"

"Well enough," Lexa said. Her voice was steady. "You'll talk of this night as if you were off-duty, do you understand? You were over there—" she jerked her head towards the noise they'd abandoned, "letting yourself loose with gallons of mead with your friend—" she now gestured towards the guard opposite him, whose own surprise was personified in a stunned silence.

"Of course," the guard said hoarsely. "Do we--?"

"Not _actually_ ," Lexa said sharply. Clarke nearly rolled her eyes. "Use your imagination."

"Your face is buried in an ample pair of bosoms right now, Tristan," the other guard said, as an example. Clarke and Lexa swivelled to face him, amused that he'd been so silent and then so crass. "That's what we got up to tonight."

"And the wine was sweet," said Tristan, "Just like the lady's skin."

"She fed you apples!" the other guard replied cheerily, as Lexa and Clarke decided to leave the two men to swapping their fantasies, growing lewder as they cleared the distance. "Sucked the juice from your very fingers!"

That was the last they decided to hear of it.

Tonight was crisp ( _just like the apple the guard had been describing_ , Clarke thought distastefully), the air lacking bite, though. It was pleasantly muggy; not enough for her shirt to stick to her skin, but enough so she didn't shiver. The wind was bashful, flicking at Lexa's let-down hair, but a nice, calming warm.

"The plains are always forgotten." Lexa plucked the words from the sky, breaking the silence between them. Clarke let her go on. "Polis is the base of fire and beauty and hand-made grandiose, and the walls are frightening or welcoming depending on who you are. The dug-out surrounding it is a symbol of hard muscle and sweat, and the drawbridge is standoffish yet homely. But the plains are just grass, widely uncut, tangled and uncivilised, like one side of that wall is post-coalition and this side is pre-coalition."

"I think it looks wonderful," Clarke said honestly. Lexa spoke highly of Polis but she did not hide that some of the houses crumbled with age. The sparring pits turned mushy and boggy when it rained, and busy times in the Square meant you had to pretty much punch your way through the crowd to buy a slab of meat.

Here, earth pierced through the air without a single intrusion. With the exception of them, tonight.

"Indra's gonna have my guts if you don't rest, by the way," Clarke cautioned Lexa, pretending to herself that Lexa would listen. "She specifically said _no strenuous activity_ , and then I think she cursed at me in Trigedasleng. So if you rip your stitches, I will rip you in half, and then Indra will rip me in half."

"Fine by me," Lexa said breezily, stopping their walk. "Let's rest."

Lexa seemed to enjoy catching Clarke off-guard. It was simply because Clarke was always the one catching Lexa in the brief moments of the day she didn't have her steely walls up, and she flopped down onto the grass, her back against the ground. For a moment, Clarke stared at her in disbelief, as if Lexa kom Trikru, Commander of the Coalition, had just vanished from her arm in two seconds. But then she saw the amusement and carefully restrained joy on Lexa's face as she gazed up at the stars, and decided to join her.

"I used to come here alone," Lexa said. "When I had the time, I mean. And you know, you don't realise how much you enjoy some solitude when you spend all day surrounded by masqueraded threats and terse war-room talks and tutelage and complaints and heckling. Can I ask you to do something?"

Clarke turned to face her, the long strands of grass tickling her cheek. "Sure."

"Can I ask you to imagine the noise we just escaped? Back by the inn. Back with the idiots Tristan and Hislam by the gates."

Clarke shut her eyes, thinking of ample-bosomed babes and raucous, mead-flavoured singing. She couldn't capture the essence. _I'm an artist. Sort of._ She tried to think of it that way. _Surely I can conjure up a scenario. If I can draw from memory, then I can memorise something, right? I was just by all that noise like ten minutes ago._

"No?" Lexa's voice glittered with triumph.

"No," Clarke confirmed dully. She waited for Lexa's point.

"Where this plain is cut off from civilisation and uncared for and ignored, then that is how it will be. Believe that life is within Polis, and believe that for so many years—the minute you pass from the inside to the outside, your ears unblock from the populace and clear so you can hear pointless things like crickets chirping in the night. And you are so spaced out from the lack of civilisation and the lack of people that you may interpret it as beauty."

But it was beauty—Clarke wanted to insist. It wasn't until Lexa really used that word that she would associate it with simply lying on a large patch of grass, staring up at the night skies. The new earth seemed to lack the 'pollution' of the old earth, of the old earth she'd read in the books. 'Pollution' was a word that meant 'blocking the stars', so Clarke had been told in class. And because the new earth lacked the arsenal of machinery the old earth relied on so heavily, the smog had thrown their hands up defeat and drifted off elsewhere. Floated itself.

"How did you feel, when you walked away from your people?" Lexa murmured. Where there was lack of civilisation, there was lack of courteous filter, too, it seemed. "When you abandoned them on your walkabout with only the name Wanheda following you, did it feel like this?"

Without Lexa's heartbeat inches from hers, and her fingers hesitantly interlocking in hers? Without the realisation that she could overcome her fury and surge for vengeance by merely engulfing herself within Polisian life? Without the lack of food and unsuccessful foraging replaced by lumps of bread and juicy, freshly-hunted game? Without twinkling eyes of innocent youth like Aden's dancing in the light as the Nightbloods playfully sparred with her during the day, the rare moments she left Lexa's unconscious side?

"Not quite." Clarke's voice was hoarse. Her solitude had been forced, but it hadn't been a tragic disaster, either. "Some nights...I guess...yeah, it was nice to go to sleep without thinking tomorrow I'd be needed by Kane or Raven or Octavia or my mom for some political bullshit. Then again, I had to sort of be a bit wary of being eaten by a giant wolf or something."

"That's quite some balance you pertained."

"Right."

"How do you feel now?"

"Relieved. Free. Like I want to smile."

"I feel like I want to see you smile."

"Oh yeah?"

"Mm-hmm. How long was it since you last smiled?"

"Too long."

"Do you want me to make you smile now?"

Clarke laughed. "How exactly are you gonna make me smile, asshole?"

Lexa's head jerked to the side so face that she nearly poked her eye out with a shard of grass. Clarke laughed louder, and her eyes slipped shut for a moment, only just catching Lexa's smirk. "Like that."

"You're an ass."

"I made you smile."

"That's something you do," Clarke conceded, and Lexa's smirk softened into a smile of her own. Clarke supposed it was all a little cliché, two young women in love smiling at each other in the blissful peace of the night, away from everyone else's mess. Then again, she was starting to appreciate why clichés were clichés: they weren't liked so fondly by everyone else for no reason.

Nothing was for no reason.

"I only wanted the stars to be my witness," Lexa began to explain—explain something—Clarke wasn't entirely too sure. Lexa could be backwards at the best of times. "Is that alright?"

"Yes?" Clarke realised a little too late that she was consenting to something she had no idea of.

Lexa remained polite anyway. She reached out slowly with her hand to cup Clarke's face, her thumb brushing idly over her cheek. Clarke supposed it was her warning signal in some way. It felt like Lexa was going to leave it at that, or that time had frozen, except Lexa's eyes were darting from Clarke's, to Clarke's hair, her forehead, her nose, her lips...

She leaned in so gently and so carefully that Clarke wondered if it was purely to prevent herself from ripping her stitches or because she was still a courteous idiot throughout. Still, Clarke closed her eyes as Lexa kissed her, feather-light like their first time. Clarke could remember Lexa's lips when they were desperate and needy and wanton; it felt like an age ago when Lexa tasted tentative and of question.

Clarke steadied Lexa by the waist, flicking her tongue over Lexa's bottom lip, and a noise escaped the wavering prison that was Lexa's throat.

"I think we're past the maybe life should be more than just surviving part, huh?" Clarke muttered against Lexa's lips as they broke apart for air, and Lexa's face split into a grin.

"Maybe," she said.

"Well, we deserve that at least, right?"

"Hm. _Maybe we do_."

Clarke would've rolled her eyes if the overwhelming sensation wasn't to pull her in for a deeper kiss, throwing careful thoughts of stitches and bullet wounds into the still, surveying wind as she kissed Lexa again, open-mouthed and with intent. Lexa returned with fervour, and Clarke never ceased to enjoy the way the most powerful individual on this entire earth cast away her iron-fist reign for Clarke's persistent lips. The way Lexa's mouth parted of Clarke's thin ask of permission felt like victory squeezing her heart, and she assumed maybe that was how Lexa felt too as she passed the chains of power and supremacy over for one moment of careless freefall. They kissed innocently, and wantonly, and teasingly; I wanted the stars to be my only witness, said the dramatic doe-eyed war-hero as she dipped her tongue into Clarke's mouth. Is that alright? The courteous facade of a shy courter whispered. Clarke moaned a little as Lexa's teeth sunk into her bottom lip, the disciplined testing of each other's restraint bashing against their self-made barricade. _Oh well. I guess if Indra wants to kill me tomorrow, I'm not actually to blame. Not a hundred percent._

"I don't want to rest," Lexa panted, knocking foreheads with Clarke.

The grass tickled her cheek again. That was why Clarke smiled. "I won't let you."

"That's how this story went," Lexa affirmed, tugging Clarke by the hem of her shirt, dipping her head to pepper kisses down the side of Clarke's neck, her teeth determinedly biting down on her collarbone. Clarke tipped her head back and groaned in free pleasure as she rolled over, her hips conquering Lexa's as she tipped over so her thighs were either side of Lexa.

"I'm not gonna let you rest," Clarke whispered as she bent her head down to kiss Lexa again, grinning into it. She felt like a teenager, frolicking in the grass.

She _was_ a fucking teenager.

"The stars are my only witness," Lexa teased, and pulled her down.

The stars did not speak of what they saw that night.


End file.
